Fear the Dark
by BlackFrostWarrior
Summary: Who can you trust when the one you trusted most betrays you?. What monsters lurk in the darkness?. No pairing, unless what was in the show itself counts. Call it AU, just to be on the safe side.
1. Chapter 1 - Fear

**"**_**Some mysteries bite and bark, and come to get you in the dark"**_

_**-** **Darkfall** (Dean Koontz)_

* * *

Fear. Fear is a hero's worst enemy. And the worst kind of fear for a midnight vigilante... is fear of the dark. The night belongs to crime. Those who commit it, and those who prevent it. Darkness covers criminal and vigilante alike, a cloak of blackness which acts as a shield to the rest of the world. Robin had never feared the dark. He was a creature of the night, as truly as owls and wolves, as surely as the criminals and even the moon itself. He had no reason to fear the dark.

In fact, fear had no place in him. He had learned the futile nature of fear when he was very young. Fear is that which paralyzes you, which impairs your judgment and prevents action. It is what prompts retreat or, worse, surrender, two things which are not, in the world of vigilantes, strictly options.

Robin had never believed in monsters in his closet, nor under his bed or outside his window. He had never trembled at the sound of thunder or howling trees. Neither man nor beast had power of fear over him. Any fear he had once possessed had gone in the years he spent serving as Batman's sidekick and whatever vestiges of it remained had been crushed in the years he'd worked as part of the Team.

This lack of fear did not make him incautious or fool-hardy, his determination to survive, his commitment to the mission prevented him from being reckless beyond what was acceptable. His caution was not, as in many people, brought on by fear. More by desire. The desire to live, the desire to continue, the desire to save lives, to stop crime, to see justice done. These were the things which drove him to consider most carefully his actions.

And yet... and yet... that was not enough to explain what was happening to him now.

It did not adequately explain his shaking, the sweat on his brow or the tension running between his shoulder blades. It did not sufficiently explain away the icy knot in his belly, his quick shallow breathing, or the rapid darting of his eyes as they searched the darkness in vain. Most of all, it did nothing to explain why he was hiding under a bed.

The wind howled outside, a sound which had never bothered him before. Yet now it masked other sounds, especially when taken in concert with the tree branches scratching at the window pane. A hard, ice-laden rain thrummed on the roof. The darkness outside was alive with nightmarish sounds, noises which had never before bothered Robin in any way, yet now each was alien and terrifying.

A clap of thunder, loud as the very voice of God, split the stormy night, drowning out all other sound for a split-second, then rolling away like a train, slowly receding back from whence it had come. An echo followed, in tandem with a flash of blinding white light, a streak of lightning slashing its way down from the sky to the ground below. It did nothing to illuminate the room, but everything to destroy Robin's night vision. The heavy smell of the storm hung in the air like dust, the tight oppressiveness of it clung to Robin like a tangled web.

Sight, sound, smell, taste, touch. Five senses, all of them rendered useless, thanks to the storm. But it was not even this which shook Robin to his core, leaving him weak and disoriented from sheer terror.

Robin knew every corner of the room, had memorized the location of every crack in the wallpaper, every nail in every floorboard. He could navigate the room from memory alone, though now the very thought of leaving the illusion of safety of his current location made Robin's skin crawl. This was not where he wanted to be, and he knew it. The trouble was, his own panic was preventing him from seeking a place of greater safety. Or, at least, that's what he kept telling himself.

The reality was much more grim. There was no safer place. There was nowhere he could run, nowhere he could hide. No place was safe from that which stalked him, there was no refuge from the presence that haunted his every step, his every breath.

His own revulsion at his dread tried to force choked whimpers out of him, but instinct bade him be silent. Yet, no matter how much he tried to control his rampant shivering, or how quiet he was, he knew his time of seclusion in this spot was doomed to be brief. But, try as he might, Robin was unable to think of anything else he could do. In fact, he could think of nothing at all except for the blackness stretched out before him like an infinite nothingness, a solid mass of empty space, a contradiction in terms which, by its very definition, must house something preternatural and beyond description.

There was a low creak beyond the door. Was it one of the stairs?. Or was it the wind, which was blowing hard enough to make the very foundations of the mansion groan?. Was it real?. Or was it imagined?. What should he do?.

His own indecision was strange to him, and perhaps more horrible than anything else. He had learned to depend on his own instincts, but now they had seemingly deserted him, leaving him naked in the dark, defenseless against the terror which sought to claim him body and soul.

Outside the storm vented its full rage on the world below, screaming out as though a terrible atrocity had been committed, a wrong which could never be made right. Inside, the mansion was deathly still, silent as though the very walls were breathless with anticipation.

Robin didn't dare move, didn't even breath. Every muscle strained, as though tensing up might help him to hear better. His eyes fixed on where he knew the door to be, even as another flash of lightning blasting in through the window shattered any attempt his vision was making at adjusting to the dark. Alone in the dark with tremulous alarm for company, he waited. Unblinking, unmoving save for his uncontrollable quivering, he waited.

A peal of thunder raked across the sky, rumbling so low that the windows rattled and the air vibrated so viciously that Robin felt rather than heard it. Screeching wind accompanied the thunder, the high-pitched skritch-skritch of the tree branches on the panes like nails on chalkboard. The thunder held the deafening low bass note, as though it were the voice of some beast, protesting being returned to the Hell which had so clearly spawned it.

This was no storm for rain enthusiasts. Even those who claimed love for the sound of rain tapping on the window would agree that this... this was terrifying. Even as the thunder refused to give up the spotlight, the sound of the rain changed. It became a much harder sound, unforgiving, unyielding. The rain slowly turned to ice. Instead of heavy water drops, nickel-sized chunks of hail fell from the heavens, plunging down to Earth, shattering and being shattered.

A crash, followed by renewed thunder and brilliant lightning, all of them blending together, jolted Robin so that he nearly broke paralysis and ran. But he caught himself. When the lightning faded, he saw that the door was open, a light was on in the hall. The hairs on his neck stood on end.

Being found was no longer merely imminent, it was inevitable. A shadow loomed in the doorway, as though to prevent light from entering. Reality fell in a crushing wave over Robin, and he was at last able to think, to move at will. His mind raced along with his pulse, but he resisted the urge to move. To expose himself now would mean suicide.

The figure in the door stood waiting like Death himself, knowing full well that there was no escape for Robin. Up until the moment the darkened, ghoulish eyes locked on the bed, Robin had not believed himself capable of being more afraid than he already was. Absurdly, a line from _Alice in Wonderland_ ran through his mind "you can always have more, but you can never have any less".

It was a line which, in any other circumstance, would be thought humorous. But now it played in his head like a dirge. More anxiety, more fear. But never any less. The eyes of Death seeming to gaze through the bed right at him dispassionately, revealing in their crystal depths the inexorable nature of his fate. Suddenly the figure seemed to take flight, casting itself into the shadows, silent save for a soft flapping as of leathery wings beating the air. A vicious, cutting sound.

Robin looked to the door. If he broke cover now, he could make it. But then what?. Where would he go then?. There was no place he could go that the other could not follow, no place he could hide which the other could not find. The hunter knew him, as surely as he knew himself, if not more so. The shadowy figure was in his head, could predict his every action, anticipate his every breath.

But not running. Running wasn't in his training, or his blood. To run would be the one thing the hunter could not foresee. Leaving the mansion, that was another thing. For this was not just any house, this was Wayne Manor. Robin's home. His sanctuary. To leave it would be like a rabbit leaving its hole, or a fox abandoning its den. Surely even Death himself could not predict such an act.

Releasing the coils of tension, Robin exploded out from under the bed, just as the hunter kicked it up on end to look under it. Neither froze, there wasn't time. A flash of red, followed by a streak of black. Both went for the door. The caped figure was faster, but Robin was more agile. The figure reached the door, but Robin slid, diving under the hunter. He hit the ground on the other side running.

There was no cry of frustration, no roar of anger. With silent deliberation, the hunter turned to follow him, and Robin knew with a sort of strangled certainty that he could not escape. He had known before he bolted, that there was nowhere to run. He had known, since before he'd even gone into hiding, that there was no getting away from that which hunted him. It was over. All he could do now was prolong the inevitable, perhaps only by seconds.

Where he would normally hold out hope for a miracle, he knew there would be none to be found here. There would be no change of luck, no release, no reprieve. It would end here, and now. There was no other way for it to play out. And, in a way, he was glad. At least now, he was free from the uncertain fear which had been with him for so very long. At least now, he knew that the end was coming with the swiftness of the Devil himself on horseback.

Robin was on the second floor, and went right for the stairs. His pursuer overtook him almost at once, slamming him roughly into the railing of the landing. Robin bit back a cry of agonized fear as he felt his ribs give under the pressure. He slithered out of the other's grip, collapsing onto the floor and rolling away. Regaining his feet, he pelted down the hall. There was no way out in that direction.

Both Robin and his enemy moved silently, there was barely a sound even as they ran and what little noise they made was masked by the storm outside, beating on windows and doors as though it wanted to come in, to bring its wrath into their very hearts.

At the last second, at the very end of the hall, Robin knew he wouldn't turn back. Couldn't. He couldn't fight the one who chased him, much less win. There was but one option left for him to take. One choice left to make. He was going to die, he could do nothing else. Darting into the last room, Robin made a lunge for the window, leaping feet first into the pane.

Shattering glass tumbled out into the night, mixing seamlessly with driving hail. For a moment, Robin was suspended in the air, as if the roaring wind itself was enough to hold him off the ground. And then he fell, rolling in the air, preparing for a heavy landing. He knew that this particular window overlooked a garden, with a concrete pathway. That even rolling would do little to lessen his fall.

The ground rushed up at him greedily, as if eager for his blood. Robin hit the trembling ground and was unable to withhold a cry of pain as he felt his left shoulder crack against the concrete, followed by his head. He then tumbled downhill for several feet, and lay still. A dull thud behind him told the story: his enemy had followed him, with no more than a moment of thought.

He had not expected to survive the fall. But he had.

The instincts which had abandoned him now returned with a vengeance, forcing him to his feet, making him run, even though he felt that there was no cause for it. He shouldn't have survived the fall. But he had. He could count that as a miracle, one he must not squander. Whether he believed there was any hope for him or not, he could not linger here. Now he must run.

Robin knew he had but one chance to put distance between himself and his pursuer. The garden was fenced, with a wrought iron gate. It was primarily for decorative purposes, but the fence was high enough that it had to be climbed rather than jumped over. But there was a space between the bottom of the gate and the pathway, just big enough for Robin to slip through, too small for his pursuer.

Robin ran the maze of the garden from memory, never once straying from the trail even though he couldn't see it. Aside from the darkness, the heavy hail obscured his vision. Once it hit the ground, it made the path feel unfamiliar and strange, and the rain which had fallen was now frozen, making the ground treacherously slick. The hail fell harshly enough to bruise, and to cut.

Robin could sense his pursuer, feel himself being overtaken once again. He just needed a few more seconds. At last he reached the gate and dove under it. A hand caught one of his boots and attempted to drag him back. The grip was like a vise. As he was pulled roughly backward, Robin's injured shoulder caught on the bottom of the gate.

Robin cried out, perhaps for the first time, or the thousandth, he wasn't sure. Twisting, kicking, flailing madly, he broke free, staggered to his feet, and hit a stumbling run. He didn't look back, couldn't look back. For if he looked back, it would finally dawn on him. The horrible truth, the crushing weight of reality, a terrible realization, one he would be unable to live with.

For his home was no longer a sanctuary, his fortress had become a prison. Most devastating of all, his friend, his ally, his master, his adoptive father... had betrayed him.

Standing at the gate, glaring into the darkness, oblivious of the pelting hail and deaf to the rolling thunder, with eyes only for his prey, was Batman.

* * *

_A/N: This flawed mess of a story came into existence because I required an outlet for my darker writing while I was writing things which were lighter and more fun. It was written in snippets over a period of months, with little thought for its coherency. It wasn't written with the intent that it see the light of day. But here it is, nevertheless. As with all my stories, it was written for the author's pleasure and is now being published for the reader's amusement._

_The story is actually completely written, just not fully uploaded yet. There are 20 chapters in all, the last one being an epilogue. As a rule, I upload a chapter per day and will try to give warning via Author's Notes if something out of the ordinary is going to happen. You don't have to keep saying "please upload" in the reviews. It won't make this process go any faster, or any slower. Still, if it pleases you to say it, go right ahead, I won't stop you.  
_

_If "PRe" as a prefix to the story title means anything to you... yeah, you're pretty much right. I'll go ahead and slap AU on this just so nobody mugs me for technical inaccuracies, of which there are doubtless many.  
_

_If you find that you are not being entertained by this story in some way, please do feel free to stop at any time._

_Heap praise or criticism upon it, whichever may suit you best._


	2. Chapter 2 - Born in Fire

_October 3__rd__, 06:30 PM_

"You really think they're doing something illegal to get their results?," Robin asked Batman.

They were standing on a rooftop across the street from MinaTech labs. Before the first of the year, neither one of them had ever heard of MinaTech. It had started out as a small organization in a dusty and ill-reputed corner of Gotham, but had steadily been moving up in the world. MinaTech was beloved by the news, as they had more than once come out with a cure for a 'popular' disease.

But Batman suspected foul play beneath that benign veneer. It had been bothering him for months. He had tried to get into the place legally, offering funding under the name of Bruce Wayne, but MinaTech would have nothing to do with him. And that bothered him a great deal. What kind of lab turned down money with no strings attached?.

Either crooks or fools, and the scientists at MinaTech had met with too much success to be fools.

"Finding cures for two entirely unrelated diseases inside of four months is highly improbable," Batman growled "developing a new formula for crop growth and developing a pet-safe insect repellant at the same time and in the same lab...," he trailed off.

Impossible was not a word he took lightly, though it was evidently the only one properly suited to the topic at hand. Robin didn't know much about scientific research, but he believed Batman. Besides, it made sense really. If diseases were so easily cured, they would all have been done away with long ago.

"You think they're faking the results?. Buying people to test the formula?," Robin guessed.

"We won't know for sure until we get a look at their records, which are in that building," Batman replied, unnecessarily adding "follow my lead,"

Robin hadn't spent much time working with Batman since he was just over thirteen, before the beginning of the Team. The past two years had seen them growing steadily more distant from one another as each went his own separate way. But Robin had not forgotten his training as a sidekick.

He fell into old habits fluidly, shedding the time apart like a second skin and returning to his old ways with ease he would not have expected. Yet it was not so strange. Robin was accustomed to taking orders from Aqualad, to following a team leader. It wasn't so very different from being a sidekick.

They fired their grappling hooks at the building across the way, and swung out over the thin traffic of early evening. The sun had just set, the night had not fully made its presence felt. A hush seemed to fall over the world at this time of day, as though the Earth was mourning the disappearance of the sun and anticipated the coming of the stars of night with some trepidation.

They got into the building without setting off any alarms. The lab was closed to the public, though a few camera crews had been allowed through over the months. The blueprints for the building were not public either, but Batman had managed to gain access. It didn't tell him where any security devices might be, but knowing one door from another would speed up the process of investigation.

They split up to conduct a more thorough and swift investigation. Robin was just as glad for it. Batman seemed not to have realized how much had changed in two years. How very little Robin needed his help now. Robin could defend himself as well as any member of the Justice League, and his years of training as a detective had served him well as he gained experience with the Team. He could go unnoticed almost anywhere, disappearing into the thinnest of shadows. He did not need a hand to hold, nor a voice to explain what he ought to do.

The night was just beginning, and Robin was full of enthusiasm for the task at hand. The world had been oddly quiet the last few weeks, which was why Robin had come with Batman on this little venture. He was fast growing bored. Of course it was a good thing that there was no evil to fight, that the world was not under threat of destruction. Of course that was a good thing. But Robin's energy was boundless, and it had to go somewhere. It also made him uneasy when the world got too quiet. Something awful was bound to happen.

He went in one door and out another, searching each room and its equipment like an excited dog, poking into every nook and cranny on the off chance that there might be something of significance there. Unlike a dog, however, Robin was very careful about what he touched. If he didn't know what something was, he left it very much alone. He knew that a mishap with science equipment could prove fatal. Besides, he wasn't here to play with lab gear, he was here to find records, to copy them so that they could later be read by himself and Batman, to discover the true source of MinaTech's success.

There was a rustling sound as he entered a dark room. Robin froze, wondering if there was someone here aside from the guards at the front desk. They probably patrolled the halls from time to time, but there was no reason for them to enter a room with no windows if the door was closed, nor was there cause for them to turn off their flashlight.

Listening, he tried to identify the source of the sound. He let his breath out after a moment as his brain finally identified it as the sound of a rodent in a wire cage. Moving around, Robin used the light of the hall to identify the row of cages in the corner.

Rats, mice, rabbits, a number of insects, all neatly labeled on the front as to what they were and what they were for. The sight of them made Robin's skin crawl. He knew that drugs had to be tested somehow, but he didn't like coming face to face with the subjects of those tests. For some reason, a black rabbit on the end caught his attention.

It was too dark to read the card pinned to its cage, so it wasn't that which drew Robin to examine it more closely. No, there was something... different about it. A wrongness in its way of moving that could not be explained by injury. There was a small lump on its neck, which could have been almost anything for all Robin knew, but he suspected it must be a tumor of some kind. Its fur was matted and there was a strange look to its eyes, a look no rabbit ought to be capable of.

The rabbit was slowly shuffling around the back of its cage, making an odd grunting noise. When Robin approached, it turned its head to look at him. Its next move was so sudden and unexpected that Robin jumped back. With a snake-like hiss, it lunged towards him, throwing itself bodily against the bars of its cage, forcing its claws as far through the door as it could, snapping its jaws like a vicious dog. It leaped back and then lunged again, a tiny squeak of fury escaping from it as it did so.

Robin had stumbled backward into the side of a desk. The items on top of the desk rattled at the disturbance and he quickly turned to right them all before any fell off or made enough noise to betray his presence. The rabbit continued its attack on the cage bars, willing to tear itself apart just to get at him. When he finished righting the items on the desk, Robin looked back at it.

The rabbit had gone strangely quiet, its teeth hooked onto the bars of its cage door. It was panting heavily, its body trembling with rage rather than fear, wild eyes searching for a target upon which to vent its savage hatred of all that lived and breathed.

Robin knew he'd found something. That this rabbit's behavior meant something. He could feel the malice coming off the small rodent in violent waves, and knew that there was something terribly wrong about it. He didn't know much about rabbits, but his instinct was that this was not how they were meant to behave. And he had learned to trust his instincts more than his knowledge.

"I think I found something," Robin whispered into his radio "in science lab 4,"

"_Stay there," _Came the stiff reply.

As if Robin was going to wander off. Robin shook his head, doing his best not to be irritated. He meandered around the room, taking thorough note of its every aspect, looking for anything else of interest that might be found here. In the far corner, he discovered a cage which held a python about four feet long in it. The snake had been curled up, its belly evidently comfortably full for the month, but on seeing the intruder it raised its head almost like a cobra.

Robin knew before it happened that the snake was going to strike at him. Its open mouth closed on the wire of its cage and it thrashed in obvious frustration. The snake's activity stirred up the rest of the animals, who began to scamper around and squeak in alarm, all of them being favored food types of snakes. Robin knew the danger before he heard the footsteps in the hall.

The noise was bound to attract someone's attention. He looked for a place to hide, but there really wasn't anywhere to go. He slid into the shadow of the desk. When the door flew open, the security guard saw no one. Nothing was amiss, save for the animals going crazy.

"It's just the damn python again," he told someone on the other end of his radio "why anyone would house a snake next to a bunch of rodents is beyond me,"

"_Well make sure,"_ came the gruff reply _"we really don't want anybody messing around in there,"_

"Yeah, yeah," the man grunted, but did as he was told.

He clicked on his flashlight, whose bright beam cut a swath through the darkness. Robin ducked lower instinctively, even though he was behind the desk and out of sight. The guard stepped into the room, closing the door behind him.

The rabbit screeched like a banshee, and the python beat its head against the wall of its cage. All the other animals continued to scramble about in panic, but the guard took no notice of them. He swung the flashlight beam left and right, then sat himself down on the edge of the desk.

"Damn animals, making noises at all hours for no reason," the guard growled to himself, feeling around in his breast pocket for something.

He withdrew a packet of cigarettes and a lighter, and Robin cringed. The man was evidently going to stay for a bit. But that wasn't what bothered Robin the most. No, it was the smoking near lab equipment. Only a fool smokes near materials which may or may not be flammable.

The man lit a cigarette and stuck it in his mouth before putting away the pack and lighter. He'd put his flashlight down on the desk, it shone at the closed door to the lab. Robin, for his part, settled in to wait. He'd been stuck like this before, and knew it was better to just wait for the man to go away than to try and sneak past him. He was in no hurry to get out. Besides that, Batman hadn't gotten _in_ yet.

Smoke curled up towards the ceiling, spreading through the air in a sickly cloud. The animals gradually grew quieter as the black rabbit and python exhausted themselves. And still Robin waited. He only half expected what came next. The smoke from the cigarette wound its way through the air and wormed its way into the sensors of a smoke detector mounted on the ceiling.

It wasn't long at all before the detector went off, a shrill alarm slicing through the quiet of the night, shattering the faux peace which had come over the lab. The guard sprang to his feet, knocking the flashlight off onto the floor, where it spun wildly. The animals began to shriek again, climbing the walls of their cages, panic and alarm showing in the whites of their eyes.

Robin, for his part, stayed perfectly still, knowing that the alarm was nothing to get excited over.

The beam of the flashlight spun about wildly, blinding and dazzling him, as well as the guard, who seemed unsure as to what kind of alarm had actually gone off. He was pulling out his nightstick with one hand, grabbing for his radio with the other.

"What the hell is going on?!," he demanded, finally getting hold of his radio.

In his excitement, he dropped the cigarette. Robin watched tensely as the flaming object fell to the desk, then bounced, flipping through the air. He followed its progress with his eyes, and saw that its trajectory would send it into a collection of lab equipment on a shelf, which was labeled as flammable.

Robin switched gears. Hiding was no longer paramount. Getting out was of chief importance.

"Look out!," he lunged from behind the desk and gave the guard a desperate shove towards the door.

They fell against it, and Robin had no time to open it. The first explosion was small, but loud. Smoke filled the room in an instant. Flames sprouted from the shelf, spreading across the floor like a fiery liquid, creeping up the walls like vines.

Batman burst in and took the guard in hand, dragging the man by his vest out of the flaming room. Robin followed at once, but hesitated in the doorway. The animals were still in there. The evidence of something being amiss in MinaTech labs. He turned back into the smoke-filled room.

"What are you doing?," Batman was suddenly right next to him in the dark.

"We have to get the animals out," Robin explained breathlessly, already choking on smoke.

Batman did not question this, but took hold of several cages, prying them free of their housing and hauling them out through the door. Robin followed, starting with the python cage. The two heroes hurriedly passed the cages on to the guards. There was no time to do anything else, not if they wanted to go back for the rest of the cages. It took three trips to get them all out. Batman redirected Robin to download information from a computer in the next lab over while he himself finished getting the animals out.

Black smoke billowed through the halls, foretelling the coming of the ravenous fire which was to follow. Fire spread from room to room as though the walls were drenched in gasoline. Robin was almost finished with the computer when a second explosion rocked the building.

Robin was thrown to the ground, and rolled just in time to avoid being crushed by a falling beam. At once he scrambled to his feet. It was time to get out. He found the door to lab 4 was blocked. Calling through it, he realized Batman was still inside.

Forgetting his own safety, Robin set to work pulling the rubble out of the door, flinging chunks of concrete and steel beams. His gloves protected his hands from the heat, but his face and arms started to feel the fire's sting as flames lapped around him hungrily.

He made a big enough opening to crawl through, and found Batman pinned beneath a pile of cement, steel and crushed animal cages. The bodies of several small animals littered the floor, including that of the black rabbit, which had been torn open from throat to tail by a sharp piece of twisted metal.

With Robin and Batman's strength combined, they managed to lift the beam pinning Batman. Thus freed, Batman dug a bigger opening in the door and both of them slipped out. They fled as explosions echoed around them, announcing that the fire had found more flammable material elsewhere in the building. The whole place was coming down, and coming down fast.

The stairs down were blocked, so Batman and Robin went out the way they'd come in, up to roof level. Employing their grappling hooks, they swung to the relative safety of the building across the street, and observed dispassionately as fire trucks arrived to put out the blaze.


	3. Chapter 3 - Warning Sign

_October 3__rd__, 08:30 PM_

"What the heck happened to you?," Kid Flash asked, taking in Robin's sooty appearance.

"Oh not much. A building exploded on me," Robin replied nonchalantly.

"Well, looks like your survived," Kid Flash commented "now you're here, I'm punching out for the night. Give me a call if anything exciting happens,"

"You got it," Robin said.

Though he and Kid Flash were close friends, they actually spent very little time together. Kid Flash was more a day person, where Robin preferred the night life. Actually, Robin had been noticing recently that Kid Flash didn't seem to have his heart in the game like he did when they were younger. He knew that, before very much longer, Kid Flash would either drop out of the game, or be destroyed by it.

Not everyone was cut out for the superhero bit, fewer were in it for life. It took a special type to deal with it day in and day out, year after lonely year, growing ever more distant from "real life". Robin knew, and had from the day he'd first put on the mask, that he would be wrapped in the cold embrace of this life until death took him. He didn't know how to be anything other than what he was.

Shaking off his melancholy, Robin went to one of the bathrooms to wash the worst of the filth from himself and his clothes. He also applied an ointment to the places that had gotten burned. After that, he wandered into the kitchen. Almost getting blown up made him hungry.

Actually, he was almost always hungry these days. Being a teenager, and one who burned a lot of calories every day, he had an almost unlimited capacity for eating. He had nothing on Kid Flash, but easily consumed twice the amount of any normal boy his age, and still had room to spare.

"Oh hello, Robin. I didn't know you were here," Miss Martian was in the kitchen, baking something as usual. She had a smile ready for her friend, which Robin returned before poking his head in the fridge.

"I just got here," he told her "KF took off a minute after I arrived,"

Finding some leftovers from Miss Martian's last cooking project, Robin removed them from the fridge and took them over to the counter. He perched on the counter and pulled open a drawer, withdrew a fork from it and closed it. He ate the food from the container, seeing no reason to dirty more dishes than necessary. He planned to eat all there was, which wasn't a whole lot.

"He hasn't been spending a lot of time here lately," Miss Martian said, in reference to Kid Flash "sometimes I worry about him,"

"KF?," Robin smirked "he's fine. He's just bored, like the rest of us. Not enough evil to fight,"

Though it was a pure lie, and Robin knew it, he told it anyway. Kid Flash hadn't mentioned wanting to leave the Team, and Robin wasn't about to do it for him. KF would say he was through in his own good time, and in his own way. It was best if Robin just played dumb.

Miss Martian might have suspected Robin of dishonesty, but she didn't call him on it. She had her own problems to deal with. Her relationship with Superboy had been on the rocks lately, though they were both trying (a little too hard) to pretend that this was not the case. It hadn't yet begun to affect their ability to work together on missions, but a break was imminent. Robin wouldn't be at all surprised if one or the other eventually left the Team to go solo. It was not something he looked forward to. But that was their business and, so long as it didn't interfere with a mission, it wasn't his place to butt in.

"So how goes the recruiting?," Robin asked.

Several sidekicks had indicated that they were ready to spread their wings and leave their mentor's side. Some of them had done so subconsciously, some had clingy mentors, others weren't sure they wanted to join the "junior Justice League" as they sourly put it.

The Team had grown considerably more efficient over time, and had covered for the Justice League on more than one occasion when situations that needed resolving occurred on other worlds. They could really use more people on the Team, especially since each of them now had the experience to take charge of a given situation and be the leader if need be. In fact, sometimes they got in each other's way.

"Not very well," Miss Martian said, opening the oven to check the muffins she was baking "and I think Zatanna plans to join the Justice League soon. Which gives us one less hand in a crisis,"

Zatanna. She and Robin had been together at one time, but had broken it off. It had become clear that Robin's first love was the mission, and Zatanna's was her magic. They had no future together, except potentially as team mates. And they were both sort of fine with that.

"And Rocket's been pressuring the League to let her in for months," Miss Martian went on absently "sometimes it seems like the Team's falling apart. Like it won't last much longer,"

"I don't agree," Robin said, putting down his empty bowl "I think this Team has value, that it's worth fighting for. The Justice League is all well and good for the really big stuff, but even they need back up sometimes. Just think about all the times we've taken care of problems here at home while they were off saving the universe or the galaxy or something,"

"Sure," Miss Martian sighed.

"Hey," Robin waited until she looked up at him "we make sure that the home they come back to is the same as the one they left. Even heroes need the assurance that their sanctuary will be there for them when they get back from a long mission,"

"I guess you're right," Miss Martian said slowly, sounding a bit brighter than before.

"Of course I am," Robin told her matter-of-factly.

Just then Artemis came in, drawn by the smell of the nearly finished muffins.

"Is this a private party, or can anyone come in?," she asked curiously, sensing the not quite-at-ease feel of the kitchen.

"Sure, we're just dithering," Robin said brightly.

"Dithering?," Artemis wasn't sure she'd heard that right.

"Being flustered and afraid of the future," Robin clarified.

"Oh," Artemis' features darkened and it was evident that she had her own private worries about the future, which she wasn't prepared to share with the rest of the class.

"There," Miss Martian interrupted, putting the tray of muffins on top of the stove "they'll need to cool off a bit, but basically they're ready,"

"You're amazing," Robin commented "learning to cook Earth food so well, and so fast,"

"I have a lot of free time," Miss Martian replied "and it's not really all that hard,"

"Says you," Robin retorted good naturedly.

In spite of the earlier incident, he was feeling surprisingly high spirited. He supposed it was because he'd finally gotten a release for all that nervous energy in surviving the explosion. He got a sort of high from escaping danger, one he'd been missing of late.

The three of them were passively nibbling on muffins when an alarm sounded. At once they sprang up and went to the room with the big computer which they often used to communicate with the Justice League. Martian Manhunter was on the line.

He told them that there was a mad man trying to blow up a city just a few miles from Mount Justice. The Team was closest. Martian Manhunter advised them to be cautious, for the man was not alone. He had a group with him, and they were apparently protesting something. Local police hadn't managed to get very close, because the man had set up booby traps around the building he was hiding in.

"Don't worry," Robin said brightly "we got this,"

The three of them plus Superboy were the only ones at Mount Justice, and there wasn't time to call the rest of the Team, but Robin wasn't worried. The four of them were enough to put a stop to any man who was merely nuts. It wasn't exactly a world-class threat.

* * *

_October 4__th__, 03:00 AM_

For Robin, it had been a long night. A series of small-time crooks and madmen had kept him and the Team quite busy throughout the night. By the time he left Mount Justice to head for home, he was very much ready to fall into bed and sleep for a few precious hours, before beginning his day life.

Still, it felt good to be working again. For so long, he'd had nothing to do but train with his team mates, waiting for an urgent message which seemed as though it would never come. Better busy and bruised than bored and useless was his opinion.

"You were out later than usual," Batman grunted as Robin entered the batcave.

"Busy night," Robin said mildly "seems all the world's second rate crooks got together and decided to have a party out on the town,"

He expected it to end at that. In fact, upon later reflection, he would consider Batman's comment to be completely out of the ordinary. Actually, Batman's presence in the batcave at this time of night was a little unusual all on its own, but nothing worth commenting on. At the time, Robin thought nothing of it. But later... oh yes, he would remember this moment, replay it in his head over and over, knowing that this was where it had all started. Where the nightmare had begun.

"You shouldn't be out so late," Batman told him.

"I didn't plan to be," Robin replied "but you know this line of work doesn't have predictable hours,"

"Then perhaps you shouldn't be in it,"

Anger flared through Robin. He was no longer a sidekick, and Batman had no right to question how he chose to spend his time. But that wasn't truly what angered him. Batman was implying that Robin ought to put the mask away, live a "normal" life. And he'd spoken in such a way as to suggest that he might try to _force_ Robin to do just that.

"We've had this conversation," Robin spat, his temper already getting the better of him "you and I both know where I'd be if you hadn't taught me to be what I am now. And we both know there's no going back, not for either of us. I don't know how to be anything else," he had removed his mask and dropped it on the desk in front of Batman "and you don't either,"

His vehement response was in part due to being tired and not really wanted to discuss anything right now. But it was mostly because of his awareness that Batman never made casual comments. Batman never said anything for the sake of saying it. If he had said Robin should put the mask away, then he had meant it. And Robin wasn't about to let him get away with that.

For a moment, their eyes locked, veiled fury in both their gazes. Then Robin let out a sharp breath, turned away and stalked up the stairs. He could not win a staring contest with Batman, but he was not willing to back down from this. He paused at the door, trying to think of something he could say that would bring a feeling of finality to the exchange.

"I've been Robin since I was nine," he said at last, not turning to look at Batman "for two years now, I've been part of a Team. I'm not a sidekick anymore. I don't need your permission," he sighed, then added "or your protection,"

He hated saying the words, because they tasted bitter. But he knew that if he didn't make his position clear, Batman would keep trying to edge him back. He didn't know why Batman had a problem with him wearing a mask, and he didn't particularly care. He'd been aware of Batman's reluctance to set him loose all on his own for a long time.

The Team had been formed pretty much because Robin and the others felt that they no longer needed to be working in the shadows of their mentors. Mentors who were overbearing and overprotective.

Robin thought nothing more on the exchange, hoping that would be the end of it. It didn't strike him as odd until later that Batman would bring it up now, of all times, rather than two years ago.

In fact, he forgot all about it before long, writing it off in his own mind that Batman was in one of his moods. Something most people didn't realize was that even Batman had his off-days. The criminal element noticed least of all. This was because an off-day for Batman made him more dangerous, not less. In any case, it wasn't worth worrying about, far as Robin was concerned.

So long as it didn't come up again, it didn't bear thinking about. He already knew where he stood on the issue, and knew that even Batman in a bad mood could do nothing to change that. And he knew also that the words he'd said let Batman know that this was the case. Far as he was concerned, that case was already closed, and never should have been opened.

* * *

_October 11__th__, 06:03 AM_

"Hey, Rob!. Haven't seen you much this week. Where have you been?," Kid Flash asked.

Robin thought about answering that. Batman had been keeping him busy with extra training, and dragging him along on the nightly Gotham patrols. He simply hadn't had time to visit Mount Justice, and no emergencies had arisen that were worth calling him in. It was beginning to really grate on Robin's nerves. Batman seemed intent on putting the training wheels back on, an idea Robin was fully resistant to. He'd been operating under his own rules for years now, coming and going when and how he pleased, taking Batman's words as advice rather than orders.

But something made him hold his tongue. There was a look in Kid Flash's eyes that said the question had been merely a courtesy, that his friend had something else entirely on his mind. Something he wanted to talk to Robin about, but hadn't been able to because the latter hadn't been around. It was earlier than Kid Flash usually arrived at Mount Justice, leading Robin to suspect that his friend had come early in the hopes of catching him before he left for the day.

"You look like a canary that's been chewed by a cat," Robin comment dryly "what's up?,"

"Nothing," Kid Flash replied, but made no attempt to hold to the lie "you know I care about what we do, right?. That I know it's really important?,"

"Sure, of course," Robin suddenly knew what this was about, and didn't really want to talk about it.

But he didn't say so, and made no attempt to change the subject to something easier.

"And you know what it's taken me to get this far, all the effort I put into this?," he gestured to the suit he was wearing, but Robin knew he meant his powers rather than the costume itself.

"What are you driving at?,"


	4. Chapter 4 - Concerning Issues

Instead of answering, Kid Flash looked around the empty hallway, and then started walking. Robin fell in step beside him, understanding his intent. He knew what Kid Flash was about to tell him, and understood that he wasn't ready for the whole Team to know it too. Kid Flash found the privacy he was looking for in one of the file rooms. He went in and Robin followed, closing the door behind him.

Then Kid Flash began to pace, rather frantically. Robin watched him quietly for a time, but finally broke the silence, realizing that Kid Flash was on the verge of losing it. If he didn't give his friend a nudge, Kid Flash would try to shake it off, and let the tension continue to build inside.

"You're thinking of putting the mask away," Robin said softly.

Kid Flash stopped in his tracks and looked at Robin, eyes wider with surprise than it seemed like they should be. Robin said nothing further, waiting for Kid Flash to gather his thoughts for a second.

"Yeah... I...I guess... well...," Kid Flash turned towards the wall for answers, then back to Robin "Rob... I'm tired of this. All of it. You know it's not because I'm afraid, because I've lost my nerve, right?," he didn't wait for Robin to answer "of course you do. I just... I don't feel it anymore. Whatever it was that got me into this... well... it's gone now. I just want to... rest,"

"I know," Robin told him gently.

"I guess I've always known... well sort of... that I didn't want to do this forever. It's not that I'm afraid to die, or that I don't want to save the world but...,"

"The world will always need saving," Robin said "so long as the universe exists, there will be good and there will be evil. Heroes and villains,"

"Exactly," Kid Flash sighed wearily, sitting down in a chair, then leaping right back up and pacing around the room some more "and... well... I want to do something else. I want out,"

"But?," Robin prompted.

Kid Flash stopped pacing and let his shoulders slump, facing Robin but looking at the floor. He tried several times to speak, but he seemed to lack the words to convey whatever it was he wanted to say.

"Artemis," Robin said for him "you don't want to lose her,"

"I want her to come with me," Kid Flash corrected "but she loves the life... like you do. It's all she's ever wanted. I can't just take that from her. But I can't bear the thought of staying at home, waiting for you to show up at my door and say that some bastard killed her. I'd hate whoever had done it, I'd want to kill them. And I'd hate you for being the one to tell me Artemis was never coming home. And I couldn't live with that. I just... couldn't," his voice cracked and he stopped talking.

"You want to know what I think?," Robin waited for an answer, but none seemed forthcoming, so he went on without prompting "I think you should talk to Artemis,"

"What if she doesn't feel the same way I do?. What if she won't leave the life behind?," Kid Flash asked hesitantly, evidently hoping for an answer Robin couldn't give him.

"That is between you and her, Wally. I can't tell you what she'll say. But I can tell you this. She cares about you, and you care about her. That's what matters. The rest can take care of itself,"

"This from the guy who's gotten out of more relationships than I've even been in," Kid Flash muttered, but he was smiling for the first time in a while.

"I just told you the truth, which is what you needed to hear," Robin told him.

He then attempted to stifle a yawn, and stretched. For him, it had already been a long night. He was most definitely ready to go home and get some sleep.

"Now, if you don't need anymore sage advice, I'm outta here," Robin said "and seriously, go find Artemis. Talk to her," he yawned again "G'night,"

"You mean 'good morning'," Kid Flash laughed, playfully punching him in the arm.

"Whatever. See ya around, KF,"

"Sure," Kid Flash said this quietly, with a certain lack of conviction.

He watched Robin go, halfway tempted to forget the whole thing. It was one thing to talk to Robin about leaving the Team, and the life, behind. Robin understood, and seemed to take virtually any news in stride. But it was wholly different to speak with Artemis about it.

Kid Flash felt torn. He wanted out, but he also wanted... no... _needed_ Artemis. He couldn't just leave without her. But he felt that he couldn't stay either. His heart wanted two different things, and he was afraid of what might happen to him if he had to pick one or the other. But Robin was right, as usual. He had to talk to Artemis.

* * *

_06:45 AM_

"He's irresponsible and reckless, and shouldn't be in the field unsupervised,"

Robin paused at the door between the batcave and Wayne Manor above on hearing this.

He felt fury rising in him at Bruce's words. Hadn't he proven himself yet?. Why couldn't Bruce see that he was fine on his own?. Surely he realized that Robin had learned all that was possible from Batman, that only experience would now further his education as a superhero. He didn't need a protective wing to hide under. He didn't need to observe. And, most of all, he was no longer a child who needed an adult to tell him what to and what not to do.

"Now, Master Bruce, as I recall, it was your idea to allow Master Dick to... spread his wings, as you put it," came Alfred's sensible and unruffled reply.

"Well maybe now I think I made the wrong decision," Bruce spat back.

Robin had never heard his adoptive father take that tone of voice with Alfred. His anger rose to greater heights. It was quite frankly offensive that Bruce was speaking to Alfred that way, not to mention the topic at hand, which Robin felt should have been put to bed years ago. He couldn't understand why it was becoming such a big deal now.

He tried to remember something he'd done wrong, some mission he'd botched up badly enough to warrant being reined in. His mind ran over recent events, struggling to find the thing he'd done wrong. He was sure he must have messed up somehow. Why else would Bruce be so upset over this?. And why now?. Unless Robin had done something terribly wrong, had stepped out of line in such a way as to draw the attention of the eternally busy and often preoccupied Batman.

But, try as he might, Robin could not recall a single incident that warranted this reaction.

"Master Bruce, you have given that boy his freedom, you can't simply take it back," Alfred persisted.

"Can't I?," Bruce growled.

"It would be unjust, and perhaps even cruel," Alfred said.

Alfred very seldom attempted to argue with Bruce, more often letting the younger man have everything his way. Though he had practically raised Bruce, Alfred still thought of himself as being a butler and, as such, it was not his place to argue with or question his employer. But he had a certain fatherly attachment to Robin, as well as Bruce, and this was evidently not something he could find it within himself to simply let pass without protest.

"It would be crueler to let him continue unchecked as he has been for far too long," Bruce told him.

"If I may ask, what is it that Master Dick has done which has so raised your ire?," Alfred wanted to know. For that matter, so did Robin.

"It's not what he's done, it's what he could do," Bruce sighed, his voice drawing level for the first time, before once more taking on its aggressive qualities "quite frankly, he's dangerous. He could get his Team killed, or himself. I refuse to be responsible for his ill-thought out actions,"

The words stung as much as a slap in the face. Robin backed away from the door. He didn't want to hear anything else. He didn't believe anything Bruce had said, it couldn't be that bad. But Bruce never said anything idly, he didn't casually let slip comments about things which concerned him.

Even so, Robin was unable to completely release the anger which had risen in him. Bruce hadn't even seen him in action in recent years, at least not often. By what right did he judge Robin's actions?. Actions he had neither seen nor heard about. On the other hand, since when was Batman wrong about these kinds of things?.

Robin decided to go find a rooftop to sit on. Maybe being alone with the wind in his face and the city below would help him clear his head. Maybe then he wouldn't feel that Bruce was being so unreasonable. Maybe then he could figure out, or at least remember, what it was that he'd done wrong.

He wished now that he'd talked to Kid Flash about what had been going on lately. Maybe KF would know of some mission Robin had messed up. Or perhaps he would know if someone was spreading rumors about Robin for some reason. He dismissed the second thought almost immediately.

He trusted his team, and knew they wouldn't be spreading malicious rumors about him, not even in jest. They all knew that an untrustworthy ally was no laughing matter. That even the slightest doubt in your teammate was deadly. Any reluctance to work together, any hesitation to place your life in the hands of any member of your team, and you might pay with your life.

That is, they wouldn't say anything bad about him if it weren't true. And that brought him back to the heart of the matter. What was it that he'd done wrong?.

He found a rooftop to perch on in the middle of the city, and waited there for the sunrise. The cold morning air did nothing to lift his spirits, nor did it bring anything to light. Even when the sun rose, bringing color to the gray of Gotham city, making even the grime seem to shimmer and glow in its bright light, Robin didn't feel any better.

He sat with his legs dangling over the side of the roof, his hands in his lap, watching the cars and pedestrians scurry about far below. He wondered what sort of problems were taking up their thoughts. He wondered if any of them felt like their world was slowly being chipped apart.

Because that's what it felt like to him. With his best friend soon to be walking out of his life, the Team slowly falling to pieces, and Batman having for some reason lost faith in him... what else could he think but that the world he'd slowly built up for himself since the death of his parents was falling to into ruin?.

He tried to take a deep breath, step back, and tell himself that it would all be just fine. He was getting upset over nothing. This would all blow over and life would continue as it always had. He would continue fighting the good fight, chasing down villains and being the only thing he knew how to be. No matter how much his personal life shifted and changed, the world outside never would. And neither would he. He was bound to the mask and the life. Perhaps he always had been.

* * *

_October 21__st__, 12:01 AM_

The change was slow, going almost unnoticed. But when it happened, it was sudden. In spite of the increase of Batman's protectiveness, and his inclination towards disapproval, Robin could not have predicted the next step in the slow degradation of their relationship. Even had someone told him that it was going to happen, Robin wouldn't have believed them. He couldn't.

The warmth of summer had been slowly giving way, making room for the chill of winter. Tonight had been no exception. It wasn't quite cold enough to make their breath frost, but it was chilly enough that Robin wished his costume was long-sleeved. He'd wished that a thousand times before, always around this time of the year. But never enough to actually redesign his suit.

Actually, the cold was one of the reasons for Robin's constant activity. It used to be simply a side effect of being a hyperactive kid, but Robin had found the high energy of his early teens slipping into a steadier rhythm. His disposition wasn't at all what it had been two years prior.

The patrol had been relatively uneventful. Or as uneventful as Gotham could ever be. There were crooks on every corner and, if you couldn't find one of those, there was always suspicious activity to investigate. For instance, earlier that night, they had swung by the new location of MinaTech. Security had been greatly increased and anything questionable had doubtless been at least temporarily buried. There was no real point in invading the place again so soon, best to let things settle back down. Still, it wouldn't hurt to keep an eye on the place.

"Look!," they had just turned onto one of the main streets in the old part of Gotham when Robin spotted an altercation taking place in the seclusion of an alleyway.

Batman hit the brakes on the batmobile and they both jumped out. Two men were assaulting a woman. One of them ran on sight of the vigilantes, taking the woman's purse with him. The other was too busy with the woman to notice.

"Get the other runner," Batman ordered.

Robin at once sprang into pursuit. His quarry was taller than he was, twice as heavy, and also exceptionally fast for an ordinary human. But he had nowhere near the speed or endurance of Robin, nor did he know every crack in every wall of this city as Robin did.

The alley didn't dead end, instead opening out onto another street, this one narrow and in poor repair. The hoodlum ran down the middle of the street, but Robin cut off to the left, knowing full well that there was no place to turn off. Nowhere to go but forward, or back to where Batman was. The street curved in a horseshoe, leading back to virtually where it started.

Cutting across yards and vaulting fences, Robin covered the distance in half the time. One yard had a dog in it, and he had to walk along the top of the wooden privacy fence, but that didn't even slow him down. In fact, it let him look over the top of the short house and catch sight of his quarry, who had slowed down and was now looking around, thinking maybe he'd lost his pursuer.

He was still looking over his shoulder when Robin tackled him from the front. They tumbled off the street into someone's front yard, and the purse went spinning under a bush. The fight was short-lived. In addition to the skills his training and experience lent him, Robin was coming into his full strength as a young adult, where his adversary was leaving it behind, past his prime and clearly having been somewhat lax in the physical fitness department.

Robin wasn't sure what hit him. An instinctive awareness of his environment told him that something was wrong. As if the air had suddenly gone bad, but subtler than that. He had to get back to Batman. Robin retraced his steps with all the speed he could muster, unease coiling in him like an evil serpent. The shrill scream of a woman, possibly the one who'd been assaulted, spurred him to greater speed. He hit the alley at a dead run, skidding to a stop, and reluctantly took in the scene.

The woman had her back to a wall on the left side of the alley, her body pressed against the side of a dumpster. He clothing was badly torn, especially her blouse, which she was holding together with both hands. Tears streamed down her face, badly smearing her makeup.

At her feet was her assailant, pinned on his back by Batman. It was this which Robin found most shocking. Though the man was clearly disabled, Batman was still pummeling him, and didn't seem to show any indication of stopping. There was a savage fury in his eyes, worse than any Robin had seen.

He knew Batman walked a fine line between darkness and evil, ferocious and cruel. Between vengeance, and true madness, violence without reason or restraint. Robin knew that the line they both walked so very carefully was about to be crossed. Would be crossed, if he did nothing. Batman was going to kill the man on the ground.

Robin couldn't say it thrilled him to leave a rapist alive, but he had learned long ago that this was not a decision which should be made in the heat of the moment. When fury boiled in your veins, that was no time to be making judgment calls. That's why it had been so firmly drilled into him not to kill, no matter how much he wanted to. Not because killing was inherently wrong, but because it was a line he didn't want to cross. It was something he could not come back from.

"You'll kill him!," Robin shouted, rushing forward and placing a hand on Batman's shoulder "stop it, he's had enough!," when Batman ignored him, Robin tried a more direct approach.

Putting his shoulder into it, he shoved Batman off the assailant-turned-victim. Before he'd finished the action, he was violently slammed into a wall. Pain flared through his left side. The shock of impact briefly made his right side feel numb from shoulder to hip and he felt the air rush out of his lungs. He staggered, but didn't quite fall. Even as he tried to recover, he was pinned to the wall, a hand was at his throat, choking him. Instinct made him try to escape the iron grip, and he used both hands to try to loosen the fingers around his throat, even as his eyes met with those of Batman and he knew it was a futile effort. There was no escape unless Batman came back to his senses and let him go.


	5. Chapter 5 - A Darker Path

For what seemed like an endless number of seconds they stared at one another. Robin saw no glimmer of recognition in his mentor's eyes, only a chaotic and all-consuming madness. This madness had a name, but it was one Robin dared not think, as though by denying it he might somehow force it out of existence. Blood lust. Lashing out, and killing as a release for anger. Terrible anger, of such depth and darkness as to be beyond Robin's ability to comprehend or even recognize.

A sudden blink, a twitch, and Batman let Robin go. Robin slid to the ground, coughing and choking, his lungs trying to inhale and exhale at the same time and succeeding in neither. Batman turned away from him and glared at the unconscious man on the ground as though he would resume his attack. And perhaps he might have, had he not just then heard the sound of sirens.

"Come on," he growled at Robin.

Instead of returning to the batmobile, he shot his grappler at the top of a nearby building. Robin was half-tempted to just let him go. But he knew that he couldn't do that. Batman's temper might again get the better of him and he might... well... there was no telling really. Robin didn't want to think about it, but it really _would_ be irresponsible of him to leave Batman alone now, knowing what might happen.

His right side still felt pretty numb, but he knew that wouldn't last long. In a few seconds, his body would finally register the impact and begin to complain bitterly about its maltreatment. The place Batman had hit him already hurt so badly that it was difficult to take a deep breath.

Batman had never hit him that hard, not even once. He was sure that at least one rib was broken, and only hoped that it wasn't any worse than that. He struggled to get his feet under him and fired his own grappler, holding it with both hands as he swung after Batman and biting his lip, trying to ignore the pain it caused in his side.

"What's gotten into you?," Robin asked when they had put some distance between themselves and the scene of the crime "you totally lost it back there,"

"Nothing," Batman said.

"That was not nothing!," Robin exclaimed "that was full blown-out of control-," he was abruptly cut off by Batman, who turned on him so suddenly that he was half afraid of being hit again.

"It does not concern you!," Batman snapped after a second, eyes flashing with irritation.

Robin shrank back, and refrained from pushing further. He knew Batman's anger wasn't truly for him, but for whatever it was that had gotten under the caped crusader's skin. It was still intimidating, and still hurt to be yelled at, almost as much as being hit earlier. But he tried to take it in stride, to tell himself this was just another of Batman's off days. Everything would settle down before he knew it. He was sure of it. Or, at least, that's what he told himself.

* * *

_04:33 AM_

The next four hours had passed in rigid silence. Talking was rarely important to their work. However, the tension between them spoke volumes, even as they refused to speak to one another. Robin expected no apology, and got none. He had hoped for an explanation, but his hopes were in vain. Maybe tomorrow then, when they'd both had some time to decompress, and absorb what had happened.

When they returned home, Batman removed his suit and mask, then went directly upstairs and locked himself in his study. Robin stayed down in the batcave. Once his mentor was gone, he sat down on one of the tables. He took a steadying breath, and tried to lift the right side of his shirt.

A hot flash of pain in his left side just below the elbow halted his progress. He tried doing it the other way around, but his right arm had stiffened from its earlier collision with the wall, making it awkward to use. He eventually managed to pull up the side of his shirt and looked at the dark bruise forming there. He winced as he pulled the shirt the rest of the way off.

He had just completed the complex procedure when he heard footsteps on the stairs. Looking up, he recognized Alfred's silhouette almost at once. Alfred stepped into the light, took one look at Robin, and then went for a first aid kit.

"And what happened this time?," Alfred asked as he set to work on the injuries without waiting for request or even consent from Robin.

Robin didn't protest the help. It was welcome. He felt so stiff and sore that he hadn't been sure just how he was going to manage tending to his injuries, all of which seemed to require a substantial amount of flexing to get to in the first place.

"Just your typical alley fight," he hadn't planned to lie, not really.

The words just rolled off his tongue, and he didn't have it in him to take them back and tell the real truth. It wasn't so much denying that it had happened as not wanting to actually say it. As if telling the true story would somehow be a betrayal of his father.

Alfred looked vaguely suspicious and Robin averted his eyes. He almost expected Alfred to demand the truth, but instead Alfred merely shrugged, evidently thinking Robin's behavior was a sign that he was embarrassed rather than being deceitful.

Somehow Alfred taking his comment at face value made everything that much worse. He'd never lied to Alfred before, and doing it felt wrong. It made him feel... well... dirty. But how could he tell the truth, when that truth would sound like an accusation?. It felt wrong to lie to Alfred, but it would feel like treachery to say that it had been Batman who hurt him.

He was reminded of his conversation with Kid Flash earlier that month. He hadn't really understood then what it was like, being torn. But now he was beginning to feel as though his heart was being ripped in two. His loyalties were coming into conflict.

Torn between the truth and protecting his mentor, being pulled apart trying to get any time at all with the Team but always being dragged along with Batman. It was amazing, and terrifying, just how fast everything could change. As his thoughts churned these issues in his mind, he suddenly hit upon an insight.

Batman's sudden attachment to him might be his own way of calling for help. Perhaps he was using Robin's presence to keep an even keel. Whatever was going on in The Bat's head, it was evidently affecting just about everything, including his logical way of thinking.

Then and there, Robin came to a decision. Whatever was going on, he was going to do everything in his power to help. If that meant taking a few hits and telling a few lies, then so be it. He owed Batman that much, and more. Whatever this was, they would ride it out together, whatever the personal cost.

Little did Robin know just how high that cost might be.

* * *

_October 21__st__, 8:08 PM_

"What happened to you?," Superboy asked, taking one look at Robin and immediately seeing that something was off.

"Nothing," Robin told him, shrugging very carefully "just a little too much night last night,"

In truth, he would rather be in bed, preferably asleep. Bruce had dragged him out at seven o'clock to go along with him to Wayne Tower, followed by an afternoon party for the rich and famous, which had gone on far too long for Robin's taste. Then he'd had to sit outside a board room while Bruce was in a meeting. He was only here now because Bruce had finally gone home to get some sleep.

Robin would rather have been at home sleeping as well, but he'd promised Aqualad that he would show up and help test a new security system a member of the Justice League had cooked up. Aqualad hadn't showed yet, so Robin had wandered into the living area of the Team headquarters. Superboy had walked in and found him sitting on the couch. Robin had been about to fall into a light doze, but the interruption robbed all chance of sleep from him.

Superboy raised an eyebrow, but didn't insist on an explanation. He was almost tempted to tell Superboy what was going on, fully aware that, of all people in the world, Superboy would be willing to let things rest. Superboy had never been one to tell people how they should or shouldn't deal with their problems. Perhaps it was the controlled nature of his origins, or maybe it was just a personality thing. But, in spite of his fiery temper, Superboy rarely forced his opinions on others.

Still, Robin felt that he would be better off saying nothing, stubbornly clinging to the belief that it would all blow over, given time.

While Robin had been thinking, Superboy had already gone on through the room, off to do whatever it was he'd been going to do before stopping to speak with Robin. Evidently he'd sensed that Robin didn't want to talk about it, whatever it was.

A few minutes later, Aqualad showed up, and asked virtually the same question as Superboy.

"You do not look well, my friend. Are you alright?," Aqualad asked.

"Everybody keeps asking me that," Robin tried to sound disgruntled but felt as if he was coming off sounding more weary than anything "I just had a bad night is all,"

Aqualad looked him up and down critically, but said nothing for the moment.

"Now," Robin said by way of changing the subject "about the security system...,"

* * *

_10:00 PM_

It had been a difficult two hours. Robin couldn't seem to stay focused on the task at hand, and Aqualad had noticed. More than once, he had suggested they work on it later, but Robin turned him down. Something told him that, if it didn't get done now, it wasn't going to get done.

Robin had been testing the program's ability to be hacked into, while Aqualad had been trying others means of circumventing or destroying it. Together, they had found a number of weaknesses in the system, all of which seemed easily fixable.

Aqualad looked as though he were about to suggest they finish up for the night when they both heard voices outside the room they'd been working in. They were muffled through the door, but both could easily recognize the sound of Batman and Black Canary's voices.

"I just think you should keep an eye on him," Batman was saying in a low voice.

"Any particular reason?," Black Canary asked.

"He's been acting strange lately. Paranoid," Batman replied, somewhat evasively.

"Paranoid?," Black Canary sounded skeptical "isn't that a given in this line of work?,"

"This is different," Batman told her, his voice growing harder to hear as the two of them walked past the door an on down the hall "in his present state, Robin may actually be a danger to the Team,"

Robin cringed at the sound of his name. He wanted to go right out there and protest, demand to know why Batman was saying these things about him. But he resisted that impulse. He also resisted the urge to look at Aqualad, to see how he was taking this bit of information.

"I expect he's here for me," Robin said after a tense moment of silence "I've been going with him on his nightly patrolling of Gotham," he bit his tongue to prevent himself from saying anything further.

He tried to look Aqualad in the eye as he said this, but found himself unable to do so. He felt somehow ashamed, and didn't entirely know why. He supposed it was because he was keeping secrets from the Team's leader now, as well as Alfred.

He was good at lying, of course. You had to be, in order to lead the double life of a superhero. But lying to these people, his most trusted of allies... felt wrong. And yet, he found that he could do nothing else. Even if he had wanted to speak, he couldn't find his voice to do so.

That moment was the first time he felt it. A cold sensation starting in his gut and spreading through the rest of him like ice in his veins. Not quite dread or guilt, but very much like both together. A feeling that didn't really have a name, yet was undeniable in its existence.

Robin didn't like it. Didn't like it at all.

* * *

_October 25__th__, 04:33 AM_

The last few days had proven grueling for Robin. It seemed like Batman never slept, and was always doing something. Robin intended to tag along whether he was invited to or not, but it never came up. Batman always said something along the lines of "you're going with me" and that was the end of it. It rubbed Robin the wrong way, irritated him to the point of profanity, but he always bit his tongue and said nothing. Sometimes Robin wasn't even given a chance to eat before they headed out to do something. He got dragged out on patrol, into investigations, was forced to sit through meetings and attend parties, all under the careful watch of Batman/Bruce Wayne.

He thought he was finally going to have a moment's peace when he got an unexpected call from Kid Flash, who he had not seen since their conversation two weeks ago. Kid Flash evidently wanted to speak with him in person, so they arranged to meet on a rooftop in Gotham.

It was a much shorter trip for Robin, but Kid Flash's speed allowed him to get there first. When Robin arrived, Kid Flash was nervously pacing the rooftop, his hands clasped behind his back.

"What gets you up at this hour, KF?," Robin asked, by way of announcing his arrival.

Kid Flash stopped and looked up, somewhat startled. Robin had, as usual, snuck up on him. Often Robin found this an amusing thing to do, but this time it had been wholly accidental.

"I figured you'd still be up. I've been trying to talk to you, but you're never around anymore,"

Robin's face fell, but he hoped Kid Flash couldn't see it in the dark. He'd been so busy trying to help Batman, that he'd virtually forgotten that maybe his Team needed him too. He felt the now familiar tug of war taking place inside, as he tried to figure out just where he was most needed. It felt like he was supposed to do everything, but that was impossible.

"Talking to Artemis didn't go well," Kid Flash went on, obliviously "I think I came on too strong, and it upset her. We... well... we had a fight,"

"You two haven't stopped fighting since the day you laid eyes on one another," Robin said, trying to hide his weariness "it's what you _do_,"

"Not like this," Kid Flash replied, his voice unusually soft "I think I really... really made a mess of things, and I don't know how to fix it,"

"Like I'm the expert on relationships," Robin said, barely stopping himself before he elaborated.

"Maybe not... but... you... you always seem to have an answer. You've got to have a solution somewhere in that bag of tricks of yours,"

Robin was silent for a moment, trying to think. The problem was, his brain felt overworked and didn't seem to want to think about anything. He'd been in high gear for too long and what he needed most was a break. But none seemed forthcoming.

Hoping Robin's silence was an indication that he was thinking, Kid Flash scurried over to stand next to his friend, as if his proximity would somehow speed up the thought process. To his surprise, Robin flinched away from him. Robin's reaction to the sudden movement in his peripheral vision probably startled Robin almost as much as Kid Flash.

He blinked a couple of times and forced the tension out of his shoulders, trying to pretend that his reaction was nothing out of the ordinary. After all, he was a high strung individual, didn't he have a perfect right to be a little on edge once in awhile?.

Kid Flash took a step back and looked seriously at Robin for a long moment, his face completely serious. Robin pretended to be thinking very hard and avoided his friend's gaze. More than anything, he wanted to crawl away and disappear. To take a break from reality, which seemed to be pressuring him on all sides lately. Most of all, he didn't want his friend to ask that all-important question, because he didn't want to lie to his best friend. Inevitably, Kid Flash asked it anyway.

"Are you okay?,"

"Everyone keeps asking me that. Why the hell does everyone keep asking me that?!," Robin hadn't meant his retort to be so venomous. In fact, he hadn't meant to say anything at all.

It had just sort of... happened.

"Yeesh, sorry, can't a guy be concerned about his buddy?," Kid Flash asked, sounding somewhere between offended and hurt.

"No... I mean... of course... I didn't mean...," Robin shook his head in frustration.

The words were right there, he just couldn't form them into a coherent sentence. He decided that it was because his brain was trying to talk, but his heart wouldn't let him. Kid Flash had enough problems without having to listen to Robin whine.

"Long week?," Kid Flash guessed, showing his great capacity for kindness in not forcing the issue.

"You could say that," Robin nodded "so, back to your problem-,"

"Hey, if you're too tired, I totally get that. I can figure it out myself," Kid Flash interrupted hurriedly.

"The day I don't have the energy to help someone when they need it is the day I put away the name 'Robin'," Robin told him "now, seriously, what makes you think this fight was any different from the ones you've had over the past two years?,"


	6. Chapter 6 - Paranoia

_07:45 AM_

It had taken a lot of talking, but Robin had finally convinced Kid Flash that it would be best if he again spoke with Artemis, but in a less combative way than usual. It was very difficult to explain this to Kid Flash, without offending him or hurting his feelings. Robin had to put it in just the right way, several times over, to get Kid Flash to see what he meant, and understand that it wasn't really a criticism, but more a suggestion on another way to go about it.

Robin was even more tired than before, and really had hoped to go straight to bed. But when he got home, he found that Wayne Manor was virtually deserted. This puzzled him. Alfred was always around, even if Bruce was elsewhere.

The only thing out of the ordinary was the phone pad, usually in a drawer, sitting on the kitchen counter. It was only out when it was being used, but no numbers had been written on the top sheet. Flipping through it, Robin saw only old numbers that had been there a long time.

A prickle of unease ran down his spine, though he didn't know why. Surely a blank notepad was nothing to get excited over. Maybe he really _was_ paranoid...

"Where have you been?!," the question, spoken in a voice like thunder, made Robin jump.

He whirled around to find himself face to face with Batman, in full gear. Instead of answering, he asked a question of his own, though he wasn't entirely sure why it had come to him to wonder.

"Where's Alfred?," his voice sounded small to him, and he took a breath to make sure it would sound stronger the next time he spoke.

"Answer the question!,"

Robin was both intimidated and infuriated by the hostile tone of Batman's voice. It enraged him to be spoken to in such a manner, but even he wished to avoid the wrath of The Bat.

"Out," he spat back then, refusing to be cowed, he asked again "where's Alfred?,"

He saw it coming, but refused to accept it as reality until the blow struck. Batman's hand hit the side of his head hard enough to knock him down. His head crashed against the corner of the kitchen counter as he went down. The world spun, turning darker and darker... and finally fading to black.

* * *

_October 27__th__ , 07:00 PM_

"Paranoid?. Robin?," Kid Flash actually laughed.

Robin's continuing absence had not gone unnoticed by the Team, nor had they failed to observe Batman's frequent low-voiced conversations with members of the League who were hanging around Mount Justice. None of them had overheard anything, except for Aqualad a few weeks ago. When he told the Team what he'd overheard, Kid Flash had been the first to scoff.

The others looked at one another and didn't comment. They didn't think it was funny, they were genuinely worried. How could you tell if a superhero was being paranoid?. They were also unsure of their ability to pick out strange behavior in Robin, particularly. To them, virtually all of his behaviors were strange.

"Batman and Robin live in the same house together," Artemis said after a moment "He probably knows Robin better than any of us,"

"Still," Kid Flash grumbled "He's one to talk. He's the whole reason Robin isn't supposed to tell anybody his real name. How's that for paranoid?,"

The rest of the team remained silent. They didn't want to admit it, but now they thought about it, Robin had been acting a little... off. Distant, distracted. They hadn't really noticed it, but now it had been pointed out, they could think of little else. Their silence made Kid Flash remember that moment on the rooftop when Robin had flinched away from him. _That_ was definitely out of the ordinary.

But he didn't mention it. That would be admitting there was something wrong with his friend, something he had failed to notice or do anything about. In his mind, Robin stood as the invincible. Lacking in any sort of superpowers, but able to hold his own against even Superman when it came down to it. Taking capture, torture, destruction and even death all in stride, adapting to any situation in the same way a dancer learns a new step, with confidence and a calm aura of acceptance.

Admitting to having seen Robin in a moment of weakness would be comparable with announcing that reality was an illusion. And, though Kid Flash denied it even to himself, something being wrong with Robin would affect the Team. Especially him, as he was currently trying to leave the life behind. Robin, however indirectly, was getting in the way of that.

* * *

Flickering flame, burning in the darkness. Consuming what blocks its way, a hellish inferno, engulfing the heart, burning through the soul, and leaving behind only desolate ash. A shadow of hate, falling across an endless void. A seething, living darkness, swallowing memory and mind, leaving nothing but the fire, which in turn leaves nothing in its wake save that which remains after death has taken from you all that it can. Emptiness. Terrible, black emptiness. Deeper... deeper into the dark, where only the truly lost ever go, drowning in the sorrows of the world, drinking in the smell of death, of cold blood...

...Robin's eyes flashed open and he stared about him in a sea of disorientation. There was a throbbing pain in his head, which seemed bent on blocking out everything else. Soaked in sweat, he could still feel the flames which had burned only in his dreams. He felt as if he were burning even now, which drove him to a sitting position, in spite of the dizziness the action caused.

He sat panting for several seconds, or perhaps minutes, waiting for his mind and body to return to reality and tell him what was going on. When at last they did, he realized he was in his own bed, though fully clothed (including his mask).

After his altercation with the kitchen counter, Robin had woken with a splitting headache and blurry vision. Batman had explained to him that Alfred was going on a long holiday, and wouldn't be back for some time. He muttered something about it being for the best, being "safest that way", but Robin was too groggy to understand what that meant, and it hadn't been repeated later.

He'd spent the last day or two pretty out of it. Batman had thankfully decided to leave him mostly at home, though he had dragged him on a brief patrol the night before, which hadn't gone terribly well at all. Since being knocked out, Robin had taken special care to stay on Batman's good side.

He had resisted the urge to argue, or demand an explanation. Doing so, he now knew from experience, would only make things that much worse. It concerned him, Batman going out alone. There was no telling what he might do, over the edge as he seemed to be.

Robin had already learned to watch for the warning signs, most of which were so subtle that only someone who spent as much time with The Bat as Robin did could notice them. To him, they stood out like neon signs, saying that pushing further would be bad for everyone, especially him. The past few days had been fairly quiet and peaceable as a result.

That is, during the day. Everything changed when the sun went down.

Batman would begin to pace, growing ever more restless. He clearly wanted to go out on patrol, but didn't want Robin out of sight. Robin understood. He was the lifeline. If Batman did lose control and cross that line in the heat of the moment, Robin could stop him from doing something he would regret. But Batman could no more stay in at night than he could stop his heart from beating. And Robin was in no condition to go with him.

In his absence, Robin spent most of his time sleeping. A growing concern had built in him, that perhaps this was more than a simple case of stress. Blood samples were easy to obtain when cleaning cuts from Batman's nightly fights with criminals. Robin wasn't sure what he was looking for. Something out of the ordinary. But he'd run every test he could think of, and they'd all come back negative.

So he'd decided that his initial assumption was correct, that there was something bothering Batman that he wasn't telling Robin about. That meant there was nothing to do but try and wait the situation out, or hope that an opportunity to ask some questions came up. This was not the first time Batman had let something get under his skin and refused to talk about it. Robin had learned that it was better not to press the issue, and wait for Batman to talk about it on his own.

Until then, Robin would just have to curb his normal reactions to intimidating behaviors. He would have to resist the urge to raise his voice when Batman did, and would have to respond passively to aggression. It went against his natural inclination to do so, but he knew it was better that way. His own combative nature was counterproductive in this instance.

He had to bite his tongue on any retort to harsh words, to take a deep breath at every criticism, swallow his resentment of being treated like a child, and just wait it out. Robin wasn't naturally a patient person, but he had plenty of experience waiting. Sure, being a vigilante had its share of action, but there was also a _lot_ of waiting around involved. Waiting to arrive, waiting to see something, waiting for test results, waiting.. waiting... and more waiting. He could wait. Forever, if that's what it took.

* * *

_November 2__nd__, 02:00 AM_

For several nights now, Robin had been joining Batman. His blurred vision and dizzy spells were all but gone, though his head still hurt off and on, especially when he moved too quickly. He didn't say anything about it, and Batman didn't ask.

Actually, Batman didn't talk to him much at all these days, except to tell him what it was that he'd done wrong, or could have done better. Robin was used to this. Batman's way of showing he cared had always been to say and do things that furthered Robin's ability to survive. He might frown and use a harsh tone, but Robin had learned to appreciate that as much as any high praise. Trouble was, lately, he couldn't see what it was that was causing displeasure in his mentor.

Nothing he did seemed to be good enough. It didn't come as a surprise to him, all things considered, but it was grating on his nerves. But he had decided to grit his teeth and bear it in silence, and so that's exactly what he would do.

He'd settled into an uncomfortable routine of maintaining his peace, of dropping his gaze when Batman spoke, carefully refraining from using any tone or words which might be seen as aggressive. It wasn't easy for him. In fact, it was harder than he had imagined it would be.

Tonight, they were patrolling from the rooftops. Robin preferred this to riding in the batmobile. To better canvas an area, they were always some distance apart, on opposite sides of a building, or even on two entirely different buildings. Distance had become Robin's release. The farther away he was from Batman, the better and more normal things seemed.

There was a chill wind blowing, foretelling of the icy months to come. Robin tried to remember how cold it had been this time last year. It seemed like tonight was cooler than last year had been, but he wasn't entirely sure. In any case, the weather man had been predicting that the weather was going to turn nasty over the next week or so, with the assumption that the trend would continue well into the month. Winter was coming early, and it was going to be cold.

Robin was standing on the corner of a tall building, right at the edge so he could look up and down several streets and alleys. The great height and lack of any sort of railing between himself and thin air didn't bother Robin at all. Even if he fell, which was so unlikely as to be laughable, he could always catch himself with his grappling hook, or perhaps with the clothes line that was just a couple stories down. He wasn't even slightly worried, though the wind was picking up speed.

The streets below were dark and quiet, as he would have expected so late at night. Truth be told, he wasn't sure why Batman had led him to this part of the city. Compared to other areas, this one had a fairly low crime rate, especially at two in the morning. But he hadn't asked any questions or put up any kind of protest. And he was doing everything he could to spot some crime that needed stopping, in spite of everything inside him saying that this was a colossal waste of time.

Besides that, he was tired. They'd been out all night, and he'd spent most of the day waiting for Bruce to get out of meetings, having been dragged along but not allowed inside and so having to sit on the uncomfortable decorative couches situated outside Bruce's office. They'd been out late the night before too, and up early in the morning to patrol the city before Bruce's first meeting of the day.

Aside from which, his joints were going stiff from cold. Nobody was out tonight, at least not where they were looking, so they'd been standing on rooftops all night, up there in the wind and doing nothing to warm themselves such as fighting bad guys. Robin was cold, he was tired, he was hungry, and he was miserable. And, to make matters worse, there were clouds gathering overhead, suggesting that some icy rain was going to fall some time soon.

"Want to call it a night?," Robin made sure to ask the question in as mild a manner as possible.

Batman glared at him as though he'd suggested that they give up crime fighting altogether. Robin almost expected some kind of barbed comment. But then, finally, Batman just shrugged and turned towards home. It would take forever to get back. They'd come a long way on foot, and all for no apparent reason. Robin had to bite his tongue to keep himself from making a comment about it.

They made their way back home slowly, and in utter silence. But even in the quiet, without looking at Batman, Robin could feel a tension in the air. He hoped it was just the arriving storm, which began to announce its presence in brief flashes of weak lightning. Then it started raining. By the time they got home, both were soaked through and Robin, at least, was shivering.

Batman was in the lead all the way home, but paused at the entrance to the batcave. Robin hesitated for a moment, but was so cold he decided that he didn't care what Batman might be thinking about and went ahead inside. He wanted to change clothes immediately, but held off on that, in case Batman was going to tell him they needed to go back out for some reason. It was about five o'clock, and he couldn't imagine what they could do at this time of the morning, but he wouldn't argue.

The cave wasn't especially warm, Robin's breath frosted in the bluish light of the computer screen. But at least it was dry and the wind couldn't get in. That was good enough.

Robin's only warning was the kind which cannot be accurately explained. Though frequently referred to as a 'sixth sense', those without supernatural connections have it. Many consider it to be a combination of training, experience and purest instinct, others have suggested that the subconscious takes in and processes more information than the conscious mind can handle, registering things with all five senses that we are not consciously aware of. Whatever it was, it probably saved his life.

The prickling sensation at the back of his neck told Robin to duck, which is precisely what he did. The kick, intended to hit him in the small of his back, missed almost entirely, only slightly clipping his shoulder. It was enough to send him sprawling.

He quickly rolled to protect his stomach, crouching on hands and knees as Batman turned for another assault. Robin's brain took a second to reconcile what he was seeing. He was being attacked for absolutely no reason, by the one person who, up until this moment, he had trusted above all others, including even himself.

There was a split-second where their eyes locked. Years of training, of trusting in one another, of understanding and accepting one another as equals... and it had come to this. Robin could not explain or excuse it. There could be but one explanation, which Robin had refused to even think about until this unprovoked and unreasoning attack. The darkness of Batman's eyes revealed to him the truth, the truth his dreams had been trying to force on him for weeks now.

Madness. Unequivocal, undeniable, inescapable, insanity. Batman did not look on him with a lack or recognition, but with a heart piercing loathing which Robin couldn't possibly begin to understand. In his eyes was desire, a lust which could not be denied. Robin knew then what he had to do. But he couldn't. No matter what, he couldn't do it. Even though his own survival, and the safety of countless innocents, was on the line, he couldn't bring himself to even fight back, much less attempt to kill. This was the man who had made him what he was, who had taught him to _be_ Robin.

To attack him would be akin to attacking himself. The better part of him.

That left Robin with but one option. _Run_.


	7. Chapter 7 - Self-Inflicted

_06:30 AM_

Robin's retreat had taken Batman by surprise. The darkness, accompanied by short but frequent flashes of lightning, made it easy for Robin to disappear into the night. He wanted to make a beeline for Mount Justice, but he knew Batman would predict that.

Something had changed. The instant Batman had gone for him, Robin knew that whatever relationship they had once had was gone. There was nothing left to salvage. He also was forced at last to face the truth about how much danger he was in. Batman had managed to kick him only once, but he could feel a pain in his shoulder that suggested it had been cracked. And that, he knew with a sick certainty, was not even the worst of it.

He had to take a less obvious route. In fact, he actually circled back to get the R-cycle, in spite of the potential for Batman to be there waiting for him. It was a gamble, one that Robin won, though he observed that the batmobile was missing from the cave.

That meant that the race was already on. Somehow, Robin had to get to Mount Justice first. He didn't know why, but he had the awful feeling that, if Batman got there before he did, there would be no safety to be had. It was the first time the feeling of fear crept through him. He didn't even realize he was afraid, the feeling was so vague and intruded upon his subconscious in silence, like a thief, stealing away his confidence without his knowledge or consent.

Mount Justice was quiet when he arrived. It was almost always quiet, but not like this. Most of the Team would be at home this time of day, except for the ones who actually lived at Mount Justice and possibly Aqualad, the place was likely to be deserted. Robin felt like the quiet shouldn't bother him, but there was something _wrong_ in it.

On entering the room where they usually conducted their briefings, Robin knew for sure that Batman had beat him there. Superboy, Miss Martian and Aqualad were all there, and looked as if they were expecting him. They looked unnerved by his presence, and their looks of wariness only increased as he got closer. Had they turned on him too?. What had Batman told them?.

"You should come home now, Robin," the voice behind him startled him.

He whirled to find that Batman had come up behind him. His tone of voice caused some uneasy exchanging of looks among the Team. Whatever fear Robin had felt was gone now. He was angry, more angry than he could ever remember being.

"I'm not going back," Robin said, keeping his voice level.

His fists were clenched, he was tensed for a fight, but trying not to show it. He met Batman's gaze steadily, even as a warning prickle of the hair on the back of his neck warned him that this was a dangerous road to go down. This would not end well for him. But he was done being understanding, he was through being walked on. This had gone far enough.

"Really," Batman drew the word out like a sentence.

"Really," Robin replied mildly, even as every muscle in his body drew taut, preparing for fight or flight, knowing even as he refused to admit it consciously that this is what it would come down to.

"I think you should," Batman's tone held warning, a thinly veiled threat.

"I don't care," Robin spat, destroying any illusion that he was willing to be coerced into going back.

He backed up a step or two, pure animal instinct warning him that he didn't want to be in range of an attack. He didn't know if Batman would hit him here, in front of the Team, but he wasn't taking any chances. He knew the danger, even if they didn't.

"Why don't you want to go home, Robin?," Miss Martian asked gently.

Robin's eyes flicked to look at her, but he could see in her face that she was trying to talk him down from whatever mental ledge she believed him to be standing on. She wanted to help him, but she didn't realize the help she was offering wasn't the sort of help he needed.

The others stood silent, perhaps shocked, but more likely simply unwilling to get in the middle of whatever this was. This was clearly between Batman and Robin and the Team wanted no part of it and were, quite frankly, surprised that the issue was being publicly aired like this.

Robin found Batman's eyes again. What he saw were the eyes of a monster. A flood of terror crashed over him, overwhelming and wholly unexpected. It crushed the rage which had formerly being fueling him, shook him to the core. He was not used to being afraid, and didn't fully understand why he was feeling fear now. His instincts had realized something that his mind had yet to accept. If he went back to that house now, he was not going to come out again.

Consumed by terror as he was, Robin didn't notice that someone was reaching out until they touched him. His fight or flight response kicked in and he lashed out, turning to face what his instincts thought was an enemy. He found that he'd kicked Kid Flash in the ribs. He hadn't even noticed Kid Flash arrive, and had no idea why he was there.

Kid Flash gasped and dropped to his knees, and it was a good thing for him that Robin had not followed through on the assault, because he was not positioned to defend himself. Horror stricken by what he'd done, Robin started to back up, forgetting that Batman was behind him. Batman grabbed him by the wrists, crossing his arms in front of him and lifting him off the ground.

"No!," Robin threw his head back, but hit only air "I won't go back!,"

He knew he'd reached hysteria, but he didn't care. He couldn't take any more. He'd had enough. Twisting, he managed to free one of his arms, hitting Batman in the ribs with his elbow. Batman dropped him and he slipped away, but now everybody was trying to stop him. They only wanted to help. They didn't understand, couldn't possibly, not even if he tried to explain it to them.

Was he just being paranoid?. He hesitated. Maybe he was going crazy. Maybe this was just a delusion. Maybe the danger was all in his head. But if he accepted that explanation, then he'd be spending the rest of his life questioning everything he did and saw. And that would drive him crazy, if he wasn't already. The second it took him to decide this was a second too long.

Superboy had him by the arms. Aqualad was attempting to reason with him, to calm him down. He didn't hear the words. He felt something prick his neck, and the words suddenly seemed to fade away into the distance. Vaguely, he realized that Batman had tranquilized him. And his team didn't just let it happen, they made it happen. He wondered if they would ever find out. Wondered if he would ever even see any of them again.

Was this it?. How had it come to this?.

Even in his drugged state, being dragged down into darkness, he felt fear. He didn't understand it, didn't want it, but he felt it nonetheless. Paralyzing, all consuming, without restraint or rationale. Inexplicable, yet inescapable. Choking him, driving him further into the dark. He bitterly realized that, for the first time in his life, he was afraid of the dark.

And then he knew nothing more.

* * *

"What was that all about?," Kid Flash demanded, once he managed to find his voice.

He'd arrived only in time for the actual conflict, and nothing he'd seen made the remotest amount of sense to him, least of all Robin's attack on his mid-section. Once again, he was grateful for his accelerated healing ability.

"Robin has become mentally unstable," Aqualad explained quietly "he has become a danger to himself as well as others. Batman has been closely monitoring him, but lost track of him this morning. Why he came here, I am not certain,"

"Are you sure?," Kid Flash asked in disbelief "he looked hurt to me,"

"Self-inflicted wounds," Superboy supplied "that's what Batman said,"

"I...what... no," Kid Flash couldn't understand, or accept, this explanation "there has to be some kind of mistake or... I mean... he was fine last time we talked... just... fine," his tone lost its conviction as he thought about his most recent encounters with Robin, which had been unusually few and far between.

"Did he look fine to you?," Superboy snapped "because he didn't look fine to me,"

"Did you read his mind, or anything?," Kid Flash asked, turning to Miss Martian.

"Why would I have done that?," Miss Martian asked "if there's really something wrong with him mentally, the last thing he would need would be me messing around in his head,"

Kid Flash opened his mouth to protest, and then closed it again. Miss Martian was right. Aside from which, if Batman had said it was so, then it must be. Kid Flash's sole reason for protesting was his own refusal to admit that Robin might not be as invincible as he'd always seemed. And he did have to admit that Robin had looked pretty deranged. He'd even looked at Batman with eyes that conveyed nothing other than terror, which was strange by itself, but also completely out of character as well. Kid Flash couldn't remember a time he'd seen fear in Robin's eyes.

There was a long, awkward silence as the Team tried to think of something they could say or do besides just sort of walk away and resume whatever they'd been doing before Batman and Robin's unexpected entrance and subsequent dramatic exit. Finally, Kid Flash said the one thing he could think of.

"I always thought he'd be here, long after the rest of us were... you know... gone. I mean, it's not like he founded the Team on his own or was the leader or anything. It's just... he... _made_ the Team. What will we do without him?," Kid Flash hadn't yet told anyone that he was planning to leave.

After this, he was no longer convinced that he should leave.

"He is not dead," Aqualad said calmly "he may very well recover. And, even if he does not, we shall continue with the mission as we always have,"

"It's not like we've got any other choice about it," Superboy added "Crime's not gonna fight itself,"

Kid Flash had no response to this. After all, he couldn't just slip in that he'd been planning to quit the Team for months now, could he?. Now he had to rethink things. He felt like he couldn't just leave, not with the Team in tatters as it was now.

Rocket and Zatanna had both moved on to other things, leaving only the original handful of former sidekicks. Now they were short a ninja hacker as well. He couldn't just leave. And he especially couldn't leave _and_ take Artemis with him, which was the only way he could go at all.

The Team needed him, perhaps now more than ever before. And, in spite of his own personal feelings and the overwhelming need to get out, he couldn't let them down. He had to stay, at least for now.

* * *

_09:30 PM_

Awareness came grudgingly. Robin first became aware of a cold stiffness in his limbs, followed by the hard smooth floor he was lying on. He felt... well... drugged, out of it, not entirely sure of reality. In his mind were many images, chaotic and unrelated. Most were memories, his brain was slowly piecing itself together. But some were nightmares, though memory and nightmare were not mutually exclusive concepts. He wasn't sure what he was remembering, whether it was all real or partially imagined.

He'd been betrayed. He remembered that now. His own Team had, for some reason, turned against him. He didn't remember exactly how or why it had happened, his mind was still too foggy to recall that. But he did remember that he'd come to them for help, and they'd thrown him to the wolves. He just didn't recall the specifics yet.

Why had they turned on him?. Or had they turned on him?. Maybe he'd done something wrong. Something so bad that they could do nothing _but_ turn against him. He didn't feel like he'd done anything wrong, but he couldn't really remember, so how was he to know?. He had to have done something awful. Why else would his Team, his friends, the people he trusted most in the world, have not only allowed this to happen, but cause it to happen?. Whatever it was that _had_ happened.

These were things he wasn't able to answer. He decided to try opening his eyes, to see if that would help him get oriented. It was pitch black. Either that or he couldn't see. Unnerved by his inability to find anything familiar about the darkness, Robin tried to sit up. It was at this point that he realized his hands were tied behind his back.

His confusion was temporarily shunted to the back burner as resentment welled up in him. He didn't fear being captured so much as despised confinement, of any kind. In trying to free himself, he realized that he'd been stripped of all his equipment, including gloves and cape. A spark of fury grew in him, and he fought the ropes that bound him more to vent it than actually try and escape.

Finally, he took a deep breath and began to work his way free in earnest. He didn't just resent captivity, but had the skills necessary to actually do something about it. Even without the tools he kept in his gauntlet for just such an occasion, he could fairly easily slip free of simple rope.

It was only when he stood up that he felt the draft. The chill wind that gusted past brought with it a flood of memory. For this was not just any draft. It could only be generated in precisely this way, in exactly this place. He not only felt it, but heard it as the air whistled past objects long familiar.

This was the batcave.

Robin should have felt reassured by this. But in realizing where he was, his mind was forced to remember everything, including this afternoon. Knowing where he was and what had happened made him more uneasy than before, and his fury began to fade back into fear.

He wanted out. He wanted out now. He wanted out of the batcave, out of the dark... possibly even out of the mask. The thought shook him to the core. Not long ago, he would have laughed if anyone suggested he would ever want out of the life. He had accepted long ago that it held absolute power over him, that there would be no escaping. Not for him, anyway.

That knowledge had not changed. But, for the first time, he felt trapped.

He closed his eyes in the dark, realizing that he was not alone. Though he could see nothing, and there was no sound to indicate a presence in the surrounding blackness, Robin could _feel_ it just the same. He was being watched. A malevolent phantom was circling him, a nightmare creature every bit as real as Robin himself. It was a familiar presence, but one that no longer brought anything but horror with it.

The person Robin had once trusted and loved as a father was gone. But Batman, or at least the shadow of him, remained in the dark. Irrationally, Robin's mind flew to the famous horror novel _Cujo_.

It brought to mind a grotesque image of a bat-dog. A mangled mess of slavering jaws and razor teeth, set below blood-colored and sanity-stripped eyes. A monstrous hell-beast which wore the skin of something beloved like a ragged and ill-fitting mask.

"_Nope. Nothing wrong here"_ was one of the lines from the book. A line which repeated. Each time it was said, it was more and more absurd. The true horror of the book lay in the characters denial of things, the things they chose to do or not do, to deny were issues at all...

Robin should have run when he had the chance. But now that chance was gone.

"_The business of irrevocable choices began. Doors slipped shut with a faint locking click that was only heard clearly in the dreams of later years"_ that's what the book had said.

There was a noise behind, like the sound of a shoe coming down on a stone floor. Or something that had been thrown in order to generate that illusion. Robin turned away from the sound, realizing too late that this was what he had been trained to do. And he'd been trained by Batman.

The monster in the guise of Batman descended upon him with alarming speed. Something hit Robin between the shoulder blades. As he staggered forward, he felt a hand close around his left wrist and twist it behind him painfully. He was shoved forward and down, his arm still behind his back. He tried to catch himself with his right hand, but there wasn't time for that even. He hit the floor hard, and stars danced before his eyes, though he still couldn't see anything else.

A rope was noosed around his left wrist, then looped around his neck. As this was happening, he was pinned to the ground by a knee in his back. His free hand was captured and twisted back like his other one, then bound painfully. Then both hands were released, held only by rope in a position that hurt a lot. But if he tried to change their positioning, the rope would draw tight across his throat, choking him.

He was then yanked roughly to his feet by his hair. A small gasp of pain escaped him as he tried to find his balance without lowering his arms and choking himself. Hot pain ran up and down his arms and across his shoulders and the skin at his neck already burned from the rope rubbing it.

He was propelled forward in the dark, blind and not trusting his guide to keep him from falling off into the deep bowels of the black cave. After a short time, he was pulled to a halt so abruptly that he staggered and fell to his knees. He heard the creak of a door opening. Before he could react to this, he was kicked in the side so forcefully that he slid sideways and hit against a wall. The door closed, and a lock clicked shut. He knew where he was. There was a small room off to the side in the batcave, which wasn't really used for anything. Or, at least, it hadn't been.

Now it was a prison.


	8. Chapter 8 - Shadows

_November 3__rd__, 6:30 PM_

The night before had been full of fear and pain. It had taken most of the day for Robin to work free of the rope which mercilessly held his arms behind him and threatened to choke him constantly. Though he could not see them, he could feel the rope burns on his wrists, and the burn across his throat, which was bad enough that it had actually bled for a time.

Hunger had grown in him, though his insides felt as abused and raw as his wrists, if not more so. Even if he could have gotten to food, he doubted he would have been able to eat. His mouth was dry and his tongue felt swollen and rubbed the roof of his mouth like sandpaper. He'd had nothing to eat or drink since night before last. He was not in danger from it, but he felt awful.

That was far from the worst of it.

It was hard to believe that a single day had accomplished what weeks of torture never could have. Utter desolation and hopelessness had crept into his heart overnight, leaving him feeling weak and exhausted. Too much so to even be depressed or even indulge in self-pity.

His entire world had crumbled apart, tumbling down onto him like it was a house of cards and he was the table upon which the whole thing had stood.

He knew, and perhaps had always known, that there was no escaping this, any more than there could be an escape from fate itself. Yet, even so, he had fought to free himself from the ropes as though he still held out hope. His training would not allow him to give in so easily. Even though his heart wasn't in it, his mind was all about escaping. He couldn't allow himself to think about... anything else.

On escaping the ropes, he gingerly moved his shoulders, trying to work the pain out of them. His muscles felt torn and stretched beyond what they could endure. But even now that pain was fading, drowned out by the internal agony, which he knew would not go away. It could not fade. It was now a part of him as surely as his own limbs.

It was settling upon him like a great weight. A heavy flame which burned his very soul, wounding him in places which could not heal. A nameless terror, which already felt ancient though it had so recently come upon him. He felt old. And forgotten. And terrified of being remembered.

Still, he got up and searched for escape. He checked the floor and ceiling, walls and door, but there was no way out without someone opening the door from the outside. The room was pretty much rock, having been hewn into the cave wall itself. The door was solid. Robin wasn't surprised. He remembered this room. And he knew Batman would never leave him alone with a chance of escape. Not now.

* * *

_November 4__th__, 05:00 PM_

Robin had no way of measuring time in the darkened room. The temperature was constant and when or if Batman would open the door was a mystery at best. Still, he felt the outside darkness take hold, spreading like cancer, slowly turning the world to sickly black. Darkness. The time Batman awoke.

When Robin had most to fear. And he was afraid. In spite of everything he could do to tell himself that being afraid would do him no favors here, he couldn't help it.

It was cold. It was dark. And it was Hell. There was nothing to do, nothing except to relive past terrors and dread coming ones. It wasn't fire and brimstone, but it was Hell nevertheless. Being alone, feeling the weight of loneliness, but along with it the fear of that loneliness coming to an abrupt and painful end. And there was no way out, no end in sight.

* * *

_November 5__th_

Since the beginning of his captivity, Robin had been given very little water, and no food at all. It was not spoken of, for words no longer passed between the prisoner and the source of his torment, but he knew that it was his pride which angered his captor.

That he did not avert his eyes when Batman stared at him, that he struggled in his tormentor's grip, that he took every opportunity to try and make his escape. That he did not give up, or submit quietly. His own fiery spirit was what made him go hungry. But he couldn't give it up, not even for food. For if he did that, he would be truly broken. He would have nothing left.

* * *

_November 9__th__... or 10__th_

The waiting was the worst part. Endless silence, fighting against the growing alarm, exhausted by constant fear, never knowing when the quiet would suddenly dissolve into a true nightmare. Shivering with cold, both real and imagined, unable to tell if it was night or day.

So many times he tried to turn the fear back into anger. Fury at the injustice which was being done to him. But he couldn't do it. There was too much fear, too much pain. At some point, it came to him dully that he could die here. That he probably would. And nobody would even know it.

And then what?. Well the world would spin on without him. He was that insignificant. All his friends would believe whatever Batman chose to tell them. The hints of his madness were cemented by his own outburst the last time he'd seen them. They were right to think he was crazy, would believe he pitched himself off a roof and died if that's what they were told.

He was so tired and gradually going numb. Pretty soon, he wouldn't have anything left but the fear, the cold dread and gnawing horror. And then, eventually, that too would fade. And then he would disappear completely. It began to dawn on him that maybe that wouldn't be so bad.

But still that small voice whispered, more urgently now than ever. The voice that was either his instincts or his training, or perhaps his conscience itself. Urging him to resist, to escape, to survive.

He was too tired to remember why that mattered, beyond caring. But he couldn't ignore the voice, the very center of his being, even though he had begun to try. Dazed as he was, he knew that he must do whatever he could to survive. Above all, he must survive. He didn't need to remember why.

* * *

_November 20__th_

"He's not coming back,"

The words, spoken with such gentle understanding, stung nevertheless. Artemis had found Kid Flash staring at the entrance to Mount Justice, as though he expected someone to arrive at any second. Artemis knew who he was waiting for, even if he didn't.

She had seen him each time they returned from a mission, looking over his shoulder as if he thought perhaps one of the Team might have been left behind. She had quietly observed him as he subconsciously looked all over Mount Justice when he arrived every morning, searching for the one person who was never there. Who would never be there again.

Batman's reports on Robin had not been promising, and were growing infrequent. In fact, Batman seemed to have disappeared from the Justice League almost as much as Robin had from the Team. Though neither were dead, there was a sense of mourning somehow, as all of them realized, at least subconsciously, that they would never seen Robin again. And, soon, they would hear of Batman only by way of news reports, as the Dark Knight retreated into his city.

"You can't wait for him forever. If we're going, now is the time," the words were spoken gently and, for the first time since she'd spoken, Kid Flash looked at Artemis.

She was everything he wanted, everything he needed. If he'd had some reason to think Robin was coming back, he could have waited. But the truth was that Robin probably wasn't coming back. Ever. Kid Flash had no reason to stay, and every reason to leave. And he wanted to. How he wanted to. Yet, even now, there was hesitation within him. Something pulling him to stay. He decided that Artemis was right. He had to stop allowing the past to have a hold over him. It was time to go.

"I want to say goodbye to everybody first. Then we'll go. Wherever you like, we'll go there,"

* * *

For so long, it had been dark. So long had he been resigned to his fate, his pride all but gone, the voice which whispered to him silent in the endless hours of deathless night. There was absence, and presence, both equally hated, both equally feared. Awareness and disregard flowing in rivers of apathy and care. All things contrary yet reconciled to be so. No reason, no thought, no hope.

Existence slowly dying at the hands of the abstract, a macabre figure cloaked in black robes of bitterness. An encyclopedia of words and a thousand years of time would not be enough to at last bring to light what had taken place in the dark in all its horror. There were no words, any more than there was hope. It didn't matter, not any of it.

Until the sound. It was a slight sound, almost meaningless. But in a world without purpose, where monotony was broken only in instances of agony, any sound is of greatest importance. This sound, a short, faint sound, changed everything.

Robin's eyes flashed open, though it was dark and there was nothing to see. It was instinct, a reaction to the all-important sound, which he knew in an instant was the difference between life and death.

Even in all this time, even in the dazed stupor his mind usually inhabited, he had not forgotten what it was to be free. He had not put away his training. Though he had given in, body and soul, there was some part of him, a third part which had no name, which had remembered. The sound had awakened it and, in turn, him. His brain was slow to come to reality. Reality had become a most nightmarish place, a place only fools dared to visit. Better the nightmare you knew, than the reality you didn't.

But even as his brain resisted, the rest of him had already acted. He moved to a crouching position near the door, and listened closely, tremors running through him as his body tried to absorb the shock of moving at all, much less at any speed. He closed his eyes, concentrating on the sound, and on trying to identify it, to seek out in its identification the meaning of it.

It was like a rustle, or a series of very soft thuds. A shuffling... shuffling feet.

Such an insignificant and innocent sort of sound. But Robin, even in his delirious state, knew at once the true importance of the sound. Batman never made any noise. There was no noise foretelling his arrival. Either this was someone else... or something was wrong with Batman. Very wrong.

The shuffling was uneven, as though the person was uncertain of their way, in addition to their balance. Robin tensed, but had not the wits to yell out. He hadn't used his voice for words in so long he felt as though he barely remembered what talking sounded like.

The footsteps came closer, right for him. By now he could recognize Batman's movement, even in its altered state. Perhaps Batman had been in a fight and gotten hurt. Perhaps in his deranged state he'd gone and gotten drunk. Robin didn't care what the reason was. Like so many other things, it didn't matter at all.

There was a long, interminable period of seconds before the door opened. When it did, Robin knew that now was his chance. Batman had clearly tangled with some ruffians earlier. He was bleeding from the corner of his mouth, breathing heavily and leaning against the door frame.

Robin didn't see how he could get any more tense, but he did. There was an unreality to the moment, he almost couldn't believe it. Then he was suddenly pushing Batman aside, darting across the floor and scrambling up the stairs, half-falling as his cramped muscles resisted the motion.

Batman overtook him on the stairs, yanking him back by the hair. Robin fell down the stairs, barely able to shield his head from the stone floor. He hit the ground hard and the wind was knocked out of him. He lay dazed on the floor for several seconds, then finally got the nerve to try and get up. A boot connected with his side, launching him across the floor. He bounced off the bottom of the stairs with a strangled yelp. It was over that suddenly. Except that it wasn't.

Incredibly, unbelievably, the phone rang.

Robin and Batman stared at one another, each frozen by the shock of it. Then Batman turned, stalking up the stairs and locking the door behind him. For a long time, Robin lay on the cold floor, gasping for breath. When at last he could breathe normally, he sat up and looked across the dark expanse of the cave. He couldn't see the stairs, or the door. But he knew exactly where they were, precisely how many steps it would take to bring him there.

The door to the house was nowhere near as solid as that of the little room he'd been in. But did he have the strength to break it down?. He wasn't sure. He felt weak and wobbly, and utterly terrified. His brief show of defiance might prove to be his last act.

But the rebellious nature which had brought him this far had not died in the room. He forced himself to his feet and went to the stairs. He walked up them slowly, deliberately. Before he'd reached the top, the door opened. Batman had returned, but hadn't expected Robin to be where he was.

Only then did it occur to Robin that he really should have been trying to get out, rather than in. But this had always been his home. Out of sheer force of habit, he had tried to go to his sanctuary, even though there was no safety to be found there anymore. Perhaps he had meant to use the phone, even he would never know for sure. There was no time to change his mind. It was up the stairs or back into the room.

Robin lunged quickly, driving his shoulder into Batman's stomach, then pushed past him.

He would never go back to that room. He would die first.


	9. Chapter 9 - Death in Darkness

It was cold. Damn it was so cold.

Robin didn't know where he was, or how long he'd been running, or even where he was trying to go. He didn't dare look back, not even if he heard something behind him. He was afraid of what he might see.

The wind tore through him, and he was so cold he could barely keep his feet under him. The hail pelted down, settling into imaginary snow, forming a surface more treacherous than any other- ice. Robin was leaving clear tracks wherever he went with it on the ground, in addition to slipping and nearly falling several times. His only chance was to get somewhere before the end of the storm, hoping the hail itself would cover his tracks.

It was strange weather. Strange for the time of year, strange in general. Hail storms generally weren't accompanied by thunder and lightning. This one was. The unusual weather added only to Robin's sense of alienation. It felt like the whole world was out to get him, even though he knew it was just one man. The one man he knew that there was no escaping from. Maybe he could remain in hiding for awhile, but eventually there wouldn't be any more beds to hide under, and then it would be over.

There was no winning a fight with Batman. Robin had already tried.

At last, breathless and exhausted, he came to a stop. Looking around, he found himself to be near Gotham's biggest train yard, which stood at the edge of the city like a sentinel. Robin was long familiar with trains. Raised to the circus, he had often traveled by train. He hadn't been on one in a long time. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd been on a train.

The thought of being in a train car, out of the wind and sheltered from the relentless hail, was a welcome one. He didn't even much care where the train was bound for, so long as it wasn't here. He wasn't sure where he'd go from there, didn't know where he _could_ go from there. He had no home, and there was no one he could now trust.

He slipped into the train yard cautiously. Though it was dark, he could hear the sounds of men at work, hopefully readying a train for departure rather than arrival. Robin had no idea if it was early evening or early morning. His time sense, so acute before, seemed virtually gone, and there was no sign from the sky as to whether it was dusk, dawn, or somewhere in between. Blackened clouds stretched out as far as the eye could see, merciless and unforgiving.

It happened in a flash of lightning so brief that the world hardly had time to even acknowledge its presence before it was gone.

Like a monstrous beast from Hell, Batman came at Robin from above, launching himself from the top of a train car. Robin sensed this, and rolled clear. The lightning flashed as, instead of retreating, Robin took the opportunity lent by the close quarters to snatch a sharply bladed batarang from Batman's tool belt. As the lightning faded out, it cloaked the moment of contact in darkness.

Robin only felt the blade tearing into flesh, the blood of his tormentor ran down his cold numbed hand. Revulsion tossed through him like an angry sea. He dropped the knife and fled towards the sound of the train blindly. If anyone had been watching, they would have seen a young boy wearing a mask and covered in blood stagger against one of the train cars. They would have seen him push the unlocked door aside and crawl in. If they had followed, they would have seen him fall into blessed unconsciousness behind a number of shipping crates.

But nobody saw this. The man that checked the car realized he'd forgotten to lock it, and assumed he'd neglected to shut it all the way as well. He didn't even look inside the car before shutting the door and locking it from the outside. Robin, badly wounded and at the very end of his strength knew and felt nothing more for a long time.

* * *

Robin was snapped to reality by a vibrating roar of thunder. That's what it was. Not a rumble, not exactly a clap, a drawn out roar, akin to the sound of a lion, only a hundred times louder.

He opened his eyes blearily, and was immediately baffled. He'd been in the dark for so long that it was confusing to see light. He didn't know where he was for a moment, sat up suddenly, his heart thudding in his chest as he fought to recall what had happened. He found himself looking out of the slats of the train car.

Sunrise had been hidden by the black storm clouds which seemed to follow the train relentlessly, in spite of the fact that the storm itself was now behind it, drifting along at a leisurely pace. Dawn was less of a light show, more of a decrease in the intensity of the darkness. It was long past that now, and the world outside was a dismal, but bright, shade of gray.

Robin was stiff and sore, and bewildered. It took him a few minutes to realize where he was, and for the memories of his recent past to come flooding back. Along with the memories came the sickening fear. Robin had hoped sleep would bring his emotions back under control, but it hadn't. Time had done nothing to lessen the shock of his current situation.

He raised his right hand, the one which had wielded the batarang. It was soaked in blood, which had since dried, perhaps even his own. Maybe he'd dreamed the moment his fear turned to raw and blinding hatred. Hatred so vile that even if his actions had been fully justified, none could condone what he felt when he acted. It was gone now, replaced by an unnamed and inexplicable terror. Batman was gone now, as was his past life. All of it, over and done with, just like that.

And perhaps, the finality of that thought was what most frightened him.

Even inside the train car, it was cold enough that Robin's breath frosted each time he exhaled. He wasn't sure if he felt more or less tired than he had before losing consciousness. Nightmares had plagued him even there, and the frigid air had time and again intruded and drawn him back towards consciousness. It wasn't really rest he needed anyway. It was relief. There was no refuge to be found in sleep, not when his worst nightmare could follow him at will from dreams to reality and back again.

Robin was too cold and tired to shiver, too stiff to try and move. And so he lay in the shadows, gazing into the colorless near-darkness of the train car, not so much allowing his mind to drift as forcing it to think of something other than the fact that he was no longer the hero he had been. The darkness had changed him, and made that change felt in his act of violence. He had not moved to disable, he had acted to kill. Even now, he felt no remorse about it. In fact, he felt nothing at all save for the crippling doubt and fear which seemed now to be as much a part of him as any limb.

It was then that a new feeling of desolation, of desperate loneliness set in. Until now, it hadn't fully dawned on him just how alone he had truly become. He had lost more than his home, and his adoptive father. He couldn't trust his friends, his teammates. He had no one to turn to, and nowhere to go.

A new weariness settled over him, along with a different kind of chill. It was cold outside, but he felt as if ice was forming from within, freezing his very blood. He looked through a gap in the door of the train car, out at the rolling fields. The train had left Gotham far behind, probably passed through a few other cities without Robin's noticing.

It was finally leaving behind the black clouds of the hail storm, only to find a new and different set of clouds. These were heavy white clouds, hanging low in the sky, so low they seemed to touch the ground. Robin realized that he was looking at snow falling. The train had yet to actually reach the snow storm, and the storm was heading away, but the train would soon overtake it.

Robin was tempted to just stay on the train. But he couldn't do that forever.

* * *

The train stopped at a station. Robin didn't know why, nor did he care. He didn't even know where it was. He simply looked out, recognized that he was in spitting distance of a city, and decided it was time for him and the train to part ways.

Warily, he opened the door and slipped out, unnoticed by the people in the train yard. A blast of cold wind greeted him, kicking up a swirl of snow. It wasn't actually snowing at this time, but it had done so recently, and the clouds above were threatening to do it again. He didn't recognize the city he was looking at, but that didn't mean anything. Generally when he traveled there wasn't much time for sight-seeing. He'd been to cities that he couldn't find on a map, or recognize a picture of. Below, the city was colorless, as if the very life had been sucked out of it by winter itself. A place of desolation, of death. Good a place as any to be, Robin supposed.

* * *

The ache which had seeped out of Robin while he was on the train had come back. It wasn't his joints protesting against the cold, or his muscles resisting movement. It wasn't even the pounding in his head, telling him he was not only wounded but badly in need of real sleep. No, it was the heartache.

This was not his city, nobody knew him here. Not as Dick Grayson or as Robin. There was no one he could turn to, nowhere he could go. Below, a black and white city spread before him like the skeleton of an animal long picked clean by scavengers. The icy streets were snow-covered, no cars crept along them. No pedestrians strode along the sidewalks. There was no sign of movement in any of the office building windows. The city seemed devoid of life. The only illusion of it was some scattered bits of trash the wind was pushing around like puppets on strings, giving the grisly image of life where there was clearly none by making ghosts of paper.

Robin shivered.

He tried to tell himself that everyone had probably stayed home. The drifts of snow were several feet deep. Nobody would leave their house in the weather which had no doubt preceded this. But, try as he might, Robin couldn't force himself to believe that cheery alternative.

Something about the bits of paper drew his attention, and Robin climbed down for a closer look. In spite of the apparently abandoned city, a morning paper was rolling up and down the street. A picture on the front page was what had drawn Robin's attention. The implication filled him with dread, and he hesitated to pick up the wayward paper and even when he did pick it up, he was reluctant to look at it.

The headline read "Billionaire and Son Vanish Without A Trace". This was followed by an article, giving a brief overview of Bruce Wayne, Wayne Enterprises and, of course, Dick Grayson himself. There was a contact number, and a large reward offered to anyone who found either of them.

_Not only the bleeding hearts will be looking, but the greedy as well. _Robin thought.

Hours. Or maybe a day, if he'd been unconscious longer than he thought. Even so, it had not taken long for the world to become aware of at least a part of the twisted and thorny path which had led Robin here. How long would it take for the League to look into it?. To find Batman dead, and even track Robin here?. Batman was gone, but the world had become Robin's enemy.

Collectively, the world had unlimited free time to devote to seeking him out. He had known this would happen, but hadn't expected it quite so soon. In fact, he hadn't really thought about it at all until now.

He looked at the name of the paper, and almost laughed.

_Bl__ü__dhaven. Sounds about right._

Then he looked at the date. It was dated December 24th. Robin didn't even begin to form a connection between the emptiness of the street and the date. He probably couldn't have if he'd tried.

Robin let the wind tear the paper from his hands. Had there been anyone on the street, they would have thought it odd that a boy wearing a mask was trudging down the sidewalk, had they been well-informed, they would have thought it stranger still to be seeing Robin walking the street in broad daylight, and right here in Blüdhaven, when his home was reported to be Gotham.

Robin didn't mind where he was going. Just so long as he was moving. A moment of stillness was all it took to drive him crazy. He moved without thought or purpose, save that of preventing himself from thinking. He didn't want to remember his past, nor did he want to consider his future. He wanted them both to simply go away and leave him alone. More than anything, he wanted to be left alone.

It happened that he turned onto a street which was inhabited. Several teenagers were vandalizing a local store. They had broken the front window and were climbing inside to loot the place. The owner had evidently not installed an alarm as, aside from the laughter of the boys, there was no sound.

Robin observed them quietly, but without interest. He barely even noticed what they were doing. There were five in all, and they were older than he was, more young adults than teenagers really. Under normal circumstances, Robin could have put a stop to their activity in a matter of seconds.

But not today. He didn't care today. He didn't have the energy, or the inclination.

He looked for an alley, or some turn off point, so he could avoid the vandals altogether. But the only turning point was some distance behind him. He would have to go back. He looked over his shoulder for a long time, before sighing heavily. He couldn't go back. He wasn't too keen on going forward, come to that, but he definitely could not go back.

He started forward once more, resuming the slow, deliberate walk to nowhere. He made no attempt to evade or hide from the vandals. If they saw him, so be it. If they wanted to do something about it, very well. If not, so much the better. That's all he could think.

"Hey, kid!. What do you think you're doing out here?," one of the boys had noticed him "look here, we've got a kid who thinks he's a superhero!. You come out here to stop us?,"

The reply, when it came, was hardly what the boy had expected. Low, quiet, and emotionless, the reply was this

"No. And, if it's all the same to you, I'd just as soon be on my way."

The boy laughed. It wasn't a pleasant one. He was the sort of person who enjoyed causing others hardship simply for the sake of doing so, and he wasn't above violence. In fact he, and the rest of his gang, were armed with chains and knives.

When he saw that his potential victim had continued walking, he called to his friends.

"Come on, let's get hm!,"

Forgetting the store in favor of something more interesting, the boys leaped out through the broken window. To their astonishment, their would-be victim turned and met them. In his eyes the flame of fury burned so brightly that even they were unable to ignore it.

Yet still there were five against one, and the one was badly injured as well as being sorely out of practice. The five were bigger and stronger, but the one was faster, and fueled by a hatred the five could neither comprehend nor hope to match.

In fact, they would have lost badly, if not for one thing. The defining moment of the fight came when the boy took on the gang leader, wrenching away the older boy's knife and claiming it for himself. Climbing up his opponent like a monkey, he pinned the older boy's arms behind him with his legs, then yanked him over backward, drawing the knife to his enemy's throat.

The leader saw his life flash before his eyes and, for a moment, believed he was already dead. But then he took a gasping breath, and found himself to be free.

The younger boy had scrambled to his feet and stood staring down at the knife. His expression seemed to shift between every emotion imaginable, unable to settle on any one or even a few that could coexist. Then he flung the knife down, and ran.

The gang leader's pride was badly wounded, as was his image where his friends were concerned. He knew, somewhere in his mind, that he should allow this conflict to end here and now, that he should just go back to vandalizing. But there was something personal in it now.

That boy had beaten him. There was also something irresistible about a chase.

"Don't just stand there, go after him!," he shouted.

The others ran off in the direction indicated, but he paused to pick up his knife. He was going to _end_ that kid. They eventually caught up with the masked boy and cornered him in an alley.

It was there that Robin died.

* * *

_A/N: I know I said you could quit whenever you like, but kindly stand by me for one chapter more. Then, if you're still unhappy, you can stop._


	10. Chapter 10 - Creature from Hell

_December 26__th_

"Sure enough, just like the shop keeper said,"

Officers Leeson and Cole had been dispatched to tape up the crime scene, and try to preserve whatever had not already been destroyed. Blood was splattered across the snow, which had been violently churned into small mounds here and there, exposing the blackened concrete beneath. This was the only evidence of the crime that had taken place the day before.

A local shop keeper had noticed five boys lying in the alley on the way to open his shop. He'd been so flustered that he moved the boys himself and took them to the hospital. It was little wonder. Leeson and Cole hadn't seen the boys, but they'd heard the description of their injuries.

Broken bones sticking out of their clothing, blood all over, their faces a broken and bloody mess. The boys were known in the area as being vandals, but it looked like someone had caught them at it and taken justice into their own hands.

_Great, _thought Cole, _Just what this city needs. Its own vigilante._

"What was the description of the guy who did all this?," he asked his partner.

"Believe it or not," Leeson said "they told Walker that, and I quote 'a little red devil in a black mask did it',"

"Pure vigilante bullshit," Cole shook his head "what's this world coming to when any random guy with spandex and a pair of scissors can label himself a hero?,"

"What," Leeson corrected him "is the world coming to that a random guy feels the need to do so?,"

"I am not having this discussion with you again," Cole growled "we agreed to disagree last time,"

"Sure, whatever," Leeson muttered "let's get this alley taped up already,"

"Right. Not that it'll do any good," Cole observed "the boys claimed they drew blood, but we'll never get a clean sample out of all this. This is probably mostly their blood anyway,"

"Hey, it ain't our job to get around makin' judgment calls on what is and is not a waste of time. Sarge says 'tape' and so we tape, that's how this works,"

"Yeah, yeah," Cole said "wait... did you say 'little'?,"

"That's what Walker told me," Leeson shrugged "why?,"

"Nothing... it just seems weird that they'd say 'little'. I mean, if you were a teenager and got your ass kicked, would you want to admit that someone smaller than you did it?,"

"Maybe he was a really little guy," Leeson suggest mildly "it's not our job to find out, okay?. Leave that to somebody else,"

If they had looked around instead of 'leaving it to someone else', they would have noticed a set of tracks leading away from the alley. There had been so little activity since the tracks had been made that they could have followed them, perhaps all the way to their owner. By the time 'somebody else' arrived, the tracks had been virtually crushed out of existence.

There were only enough left to confirm that, though the victor was considerably better off than the losers, he had not gotten away undamaged. The tracks weaved side to side, and were very uneven. All the nearby hospitals were informed so they could keep an eye out for anyone vaguely matching the description (a slightly more accurate, but still vague, description was eventually extracted from one of the boys) of the attacker. But nobody showed. Because the 'little red devil' didn't go to a hospital.

* * *

He'd found himself walking near shipping docks, stopping in front of a storage building which looked long abandoned, breaking in, then hiding all traces of his having done so. He didn't really think about it, he just did it.

It wasn't an especially big storage building, but it was full of dust-covered containers. There was no electricity connected, so the light bulbs overhead didn't work. There was no heating, but the roof and walls were enough to keep the snow out. He left tracks of dust and blood wherever he went, and his breath frosted in great white clouds.

It took him a few minutes before he realized that the seemingly endless panic he'd endured for so long was ebbing away, his fear drifting to the back of his mind like a bad memory. He was simply too exhausted to be afraid, too tired to feel bad about what he'd done, too weary even to remember it all that well.

He'd barely registered this when his legs gave out from under him and he passed out, blood oozing from several wounds onto the concrete floor.

* * *

_December 27__th_

The Justice League had begun to suspect something was amiss with their caped crusader. When Robin disappeared from the Team, some of them got together to discuss the matter, and all agreed that they had actually witnessed more strange behavior from Batman than from Robin, who was the one accused of being out of line. This realization had come too late to save him. Before they could decide whether to act, or even how to go about doing it, it had come to their attention that more than Robin had vanished, Batman was gone as well.

A few of the Justice League went to Gotham to search for traces of either of them. At first, they met with no success. But, eventually, The Flash happened to run through a train yard. He didn't notice anything unusual the first time through, but on the return trip his quick eye spotted something on the ground. When he stopped to inspect it closer, he felt a chill inexplicably run down his spine.

There was nothing so dire about the object itself, he'd seen its like many times before. Even the blood which stained the batarang was nothing inherently unusual. But something in the circumstances surrounding his finding it gave him the impression that this was a very bad sign.

A little looking around revealed a train car whose door was partway open. A trail of blood led into its darkened recesses. It was in here that The Flash stumbled upon Batman. He'd bled almost to death from a neck wound, but was still alive, though unconscious. In one hand, he clutched a small object. Or, as The Flash realized on closer inspection, a creature.

The creature was brown, sluggish in appearance and quite dead.

Nobody had to tell The Flash that the creature was an important piece of the puzzle they were struggling with. He brought Batman, the batarang and the slug to the Watchtower without delay.

No member of the Justice League recognized the slug. They didn't know what it was or where it might have come from, which suggested to The Flash that it might be unnatural in its origin. Either that or it was from some other world so far away or little known that no one had heard of it.

The source of Batman's loss of blood was a gash across his throat. Had it gone slightly deeper, he would have bled to death in seconds. It was clear to all that the stroke had been intended to be a killing one. One wound alone was all there was, however, aside from the standard bruises and cuts a hero acquires from dealing with ordinary hoodlums. The neck wound was jarringly different. It was a wound inflicted by someone who knew what they were doing, one who had wasted no time in going for the kill. But who could come upon Batman so easily as to inflict only one wound?. And the weapon itself had been a batarang from Batman's own tool belt.

There seemed to be but one explanation. Robin.

But why?. What could possibly have driven him to not only turn on Batman, but actually try and kill anyone, much less his former mentor?. And where had he gone afterward?.

The League held some hope that the slug itself might provide an explanation of some kind. Batman, weak, bleeding and in danger of freezing to death, had for some reason found it necessary to cling to the creature above all else. It must have a kind of significance that they could not yet fathom for they did not yet know what it was.

Deeply comatose, Batman would be unable to provide any answers. There was some question as to whether or not he would survive, though most of the League quietly held that he would doubtless live. Batman, though without any special powers of his own, had proven capable of the impossible. There were times he should have died, times no one could figure out how he'd even survived. This was no different. He, a mere human, had proven as invincible as Superman. More so, even.

But his survival was not all that was required. The League, and the Team as well, needed answers. At the forefront of all their minds was a question: what had happened to Robin?. Had he gone rogue?. Was he dead?. Where had he gone?.

They searched all over Gotham, but found no traces of him anywhere. He had probably boarded a train. Why else would he have been at a train station?. Assuming it was he and no one else who'd attacked Batman. Trains from everywhere came and went from the station. It was Gotham, after all. There was no telling where Robin had gone, he could be anywhere.

And they all knew the futility of looking for him if he did not want to be found.

* * *

A person cannot exist long in this world without purpose or name. He knew this, even as he drifted in and out of feverish dreams. He would live or die here in this place, which seemed neither light nor dark, for his awareness was too lacking to decide which was which. It seemed to him that time was passing much slower than usual, though without a frame of reference he could not even begin to guess how much time had gone by.

Furious storms waged war in his mind, want and need preyed upon his strength and whatever shreds remained of his once strong will. The Hell he'd left had put him on a path that seemed to have led only to a darker, lonelier one. Though he was unaware of it, his heartbeat alternately raced or slowed, depending on the flickering images of his mind. His breath came in weak rasps.

His wounds were severe, but the true danger lay in his own mind. His will to survive had all but abandoned him. He had no reason to do so. He had no one, and had nearly forgotten the purpose his life had had for so very long. He felt himself fading, disappearing as morning mist, gone forever in a puff of smoke. The end could not be far.

* * *

_January 1__st_

"What in the hell-..." Cole exclaimed, but didn't finish the thought aloud.

A silent alarm had gone off at a jewelry store. Cole and Leeson had been working the late shift, or early shift as it was now. The first of the year was always nightmarish, after all the New Year's Eve parties had let out, including the ones that went until three in the morning.

They'd responded to the call. On arriving at the scene, they were shocked to discover two men in ski masks trussed up like turkeys in front of the establishment, their bag of loot sitting beside them. They had, of course, heard of vigilantes. But there had never been any here.

"Just arrest us," whimpered one of the men fearfully "we don't want no more trouble with nothin' supernatural. We'll do our time quiet, honest,"

Shining a flashlight on the speaking man, Cole could see that his mask was bloodied and he breathed as though he had broken ribs. The other man was worse off, making no attempt to move or to speak.

"What do you mean 'supernatural'?," Leeson asked slowly.

"It came at us outta frickin' nowhere!," the man said, his tone desperate "out of the sky like a bat from hell!. We never saw it... never saw it comin'... I thought it was gonna kill us,"

"What, exactly, did you see?,"

"Looked like a guy dressed in black, but ain't no human in the world who moves like that. It moved like some kinda animal... like... like a giant black bird," the man stammered "just take us in, lock us up, keep that thing away from us,"

Cole had been looking around while the man was speaking. He caught sight of a shadowy figure on a rooftop. Dressed in black from head to foot, the figure was too distant to make any guess as to their gender. But even from a distance, Cole could feel the shadow figure's gaze.

It was hard like steel, cold as ice. A dangerous mind was behind those sharp eyes. Cole blinked, and the figure was gone, vanishing like a phantom.

"Damn it," Cole hissed through his teeth "if there's one thing we don't need, it's a nutcase with ninja skills and a hero complex,"

* * *

Cole and Leeson wound up working a double shift. The criminal element had been particularly active this year. The normal force wasn't enough, they needed extra help. They were not the only ones who were busy. Countless times they arrived at the seen to find that the phantom figure had gotten there before they had.

Each time the crooks were beaten, tied up and left for the police. All of them had similar stories.

'He came out of nowhere', 'hit us before we saw him', 'like a bat from hell', 'some kinda ghost'.

By mid-afternoon, the media had latched onto this mystery vigilante.

* * *

_January 3__rd_

Cole had taken the second of January off. He was dog tired after all the running around, even though the vigilante had done half the work. He and Leeson hadn't been the only ones to encounter the shadow figure. Somehow, without apparent benefit of a vehicle to transport him, the phantom or whatever the hell he was had managed to get to crimes halfway across the city before police. Nobody knew how he'd done it, or even if the vigilante was a 'he' at all.

Many policemen had seen him standing at a distance, but they were always too late to try and catch him. Nobody had gotten a good look at the vigilante, other than to say he was masked and dressed all in black, although one criminal said there'd been an emblem emblazoned across the chest of the vigilante's costume. Some kind of bird, or maybe a dragon.

"Did you catch the news last night?," Leeson asked.

"I avoided it," Cole replied "what did the vigilante do this time?,"

"Caught some more criminals, mostly. He did also perform a fire rescue. Some hotel didn't install fire alarms, so nobody knew about it until some guy thought to use his cell phone. One of the firemen caught sight of the vigilante through the flames, several of the people staying there said he pulled them out. We've got confirmation from them that the vigilante is definitely a 'he',"

"Well whoop-Dee-do for him," Cole said sarcastically "give him a damn medal,"

"That's not the point," Leeson protest "point is, I think he's here to stay. And rescuing people from a fire means he's trying to help,"

"That asshole's gonna get somebody killed. Every guy... _every_ damn guy, he's brought down has broken bones. Most have internal injuries. Those kids from Christmas are still in the hospital. Nothing good can come from this,"

"He's got a name now," Leeson decided to change the subject.

"Oh great. What is it?. Pants-Man?. Super-wonder?. Justice Moth?,"

"The fireman that saw him called him 'Nightwing'. It seems to have stuck,"

"Lovely," Cole growled "so what's this Wingnut-"

"Nightwing,"

"-Nightwing... been up to today?,"

"Ted saw him earlier. He'd stopped a rapist in an alley. Beat the crap out of him too, worse than any of the others. No telling if that guy will even pull through or not. Can't say I'm sorry,"

"Yeah, and I bet you're for the death penalty too. What happens when this guy goes after somebody he 'thinks' is dangerous?. Next guy he beats up on for being a rapist might have just been kissing his wife in public. What then, huh?. What the hell are we supposed to do then?,"

"He hasn't been wrong so far," Leeson reasoned "and there are a lot of vigilantes out there. Sure they're all nuts to do what they do, but most of 'em aren't wrong,"

"I'll believe he means to do good when he turns himself in,"

But, whether Cole liked it or not, a new vigilante had come into being.

Nightwing was born.


	11. Chapter 11 - Newsworthy

_January 4__th_

Wally West had intentionally avoided all sources of news. He didn't watch news channels, avoiding looking at the papers, and carefully evaded any website that might potentially be a news source. It wasn't that he didn't want to know what was going on around him, it was because he didn't want to get involved. He knew that the only way to leave the life behind was to avoid anything that would tempt him back in. He knew, at least unconsciously, that if he ever returned to the life, he'd never be able to leave it again. He'd been caught in it forever.

And he knew Artemis missed the life already. She had put her mask away only for his sake, but it would be so very easy for her to be dragged back in, obliterating all hope of a normal life for either of them. That was something Wally couldn't face.

But he couldn't shut the world out completely. He still had to go out for groceries. Besides, both he and Artemis got stir crazy if they stayed at the apartment they'd rented for too long. On this particular morning, they had gone to the convenience store down the street.

As he was checking out, Wally noticed a paper lying on the counter. He made it a point not to read the headline, but could not entirely ignore the large black and white photograph that made up half the front page. He took a second look to be sure what he thought he saw was what he actually saw.

This was a mistake, as the second look gave his eyes time to stray to the headline.

The picture was a photo of the night sky, lit up by the bat signal. The headline read "Gotham cries out in vain: where has Batman gone?". Gotham was a city of scum and villainy if ever there was one, tearing itself apart at the seams. All that held it together most of the time was Batman and those who worked with him.

Wally's hand picked up the paper without his mind's consent. Everything inside him screamed that he should put the paper down, just walk away. But he couldn't do it. He'd known something was wrong. Robin was his best friend, and Wally felt he'd let him down somehow. And the headline only served to confirm that something had gone horribly wrong in Gotham and it had everything to do with Batman.

And probably Robin as well.

Artemis, who'd been looking at bread, came and read over Wally's shoulder.

"Hey," the store keeper said "either buy the paper or put it down, okay?,"

Wally paid for the paper as well as the groceries. They had barely gotten home when he unfolded the paper and read the whole article with Artemis.

The article was basically a horror piece, telling the tale of Gotham as it slowly burned itself to the ground as it had been doing since before Batman ever came on the scene. No one had seen Batman since December, at least no one reputable anyway. It only made the news now, but it was clear that the problem had been going on a long time. Batman had been making appearances, but doing progressively less to deal with the crime in Gotham. Withdrawing into himself, into his cave. Now he was gone.

"You have to let go, Wally," Artemis said gently, putting a hand on his shoulder "otherwise we'll never have any peace of mind,"

Wally started to put the paper down, but then shook his head.

"No. No, this isn't about the life at all," he turned to look at her, and she saw in his eyes that he was desperate for her to understand "this is about my friend. He needed my help, I could tell that. But I didn't do anything. I let this happen. I don't know what happened, or why, but I know that this is partially my fault,"

"No-," Artemis began, but Wally interrupted her.

"Yes, Artemis," he took her hands in his, and spoke with reluctance "I have to go back, find out what happened. And try to make this right,"

"You don't even know what's going on, how can you do anything to help?," Artemis asked.

"I don't know, but I don't have a choice,"

"Then I'll go with you,"

"No. We've started to make a life here. I want that, need that. Please, stay here and wait for me. I need you to do that, to give me a reason to come back,"

Artemis understood, even though she didn't like it. She would have preferred to go with Wally. Robin was her friend too. But she knew as well as Wally did that the pull to return to the life was strong. For Wally's sake, she would stay here. And wait.

* * *

_January 6__th_

Grant Hauser had not been eager to sign on the teenage boy who'd walked into his office at the first of the year. He had longish black hair and a scruffy appearance, and he was pretty small, though Grant could see that he had a lot of muscle on him.

But construction workers were hard to come by this time of the year, and many of them were flaky. A little cold and wind and they all suddenly had the flu. Grant couldn't blame them. Winter was no time for building houses. But that's what he got paid to do.

He couldn't afford to turn down anyone willing to put in a good day's work for a day's wages.

"Alright, kid," he'd said "but only until my own crew is ready to pitch in again. This job's temporary, you got that?. And I'm not about to put up with you getting hurt on the job and trying to sue, understand?,"

"Yes, sir," the boy had replied evenly "I'll do my job, just so long as I get paid and you don't ask any questions about where I came from. My personal affairs are my own,"

That was another red flag. Grant didn't like prying into other people's business, but that he was specifically requested not to made him uneasy. This kid was obviously a runaway from somewhere. His parents could show at any time and give Grant a fit for having the kid work.

"Fine," Grant said begrudgingly.

Beggars could not be choosers. He was behind schedule already, and most of the guys working weren't proper construction workers anyway. They were just desperate for cash and willing to do anything to get it. But they had no experience. This was no way to build a house. But, unfortunately, Grant didn't run the company, just the work force.

"What's your name anyway?,"

"You can call me... Rick," the boy said after a moment.

"Alright, Ricky, you start tomorrow,"

Rick's eyes narrowed at the nickname, but he evidently felt it wasn't worth putting up a fuss over. He had shown up early the next day to work, and he'd held his own against the grown men who were probably twice his size.

Grant was impressed not only by his strength, but by his efficiency as well. Rick seemed to think about things before he did them, and maybe even had some experience building things. The other guys loved him. He was energetic and had a great work ethic. He didn't talk much, hardly ever smiled, but managed to endear himself to everyone despite that, probably because he never complained or caused any trouble or slacked off.

Rick had shown up every day since, except the fourth when it was snowing too much to work anyway. Grant was slightly annoyed that the boy didn't give him a phone number or address or any way of contacting him at all, but Rick made up for that by always being on time or having some sort of sense that told him no work was going to be done that day.

Now, on the sixth, Grant could barely see how they'd gotten along without Rick. Rick had a way of seeing problems and solving them before they even became problems. He was good at following instructions, but not if he had a better way of doing things.

Because they were so short-handed, Grant had to do more than supervise. He had to actively participate in much of the construction. Unfortunately, this meant there were plenty of times the inexperienced workers were left to their own devices.

That was very dangerous.

It was just above freezing today, which meant the ground was slick and muddy. Grant would have preferred to let everybody go home today, but they were far behind and he was afraid that the coming weather wasn't going to be any better.

They were working on the frame for a two-story house. Grant had been working with one of the guys on a side wall, and hadn't noticed that someone was using the crane to lift equipment up to the second level just overhead. They hadn't double checked the cable to make sure it was secure.

All of these elements combined, and a tragic accident was almost inevitable.

"Look out!," the shouted words and the scream of a small crowd which had gathered to watch the work were the only warning.

Grant and Dennison, the guy he'd been working with, both looked up, their faces drawn with horror as they realized the imminent danger to them. Both tried to leap clear. Dennison rolled into the skeleton of the house, Grant tried to run the other way, but slipped in the mud, falling to his hands and knees.

He was sure it was over for him. A split-second either way, and it would have been. Something slammed into his side and he slid in the mud, then rolled, coming to a stop at some distance. The crash was ear-splitting. Grant didn't realize he'd closed his eyes until he noticed how dark it seemed.

He opened his eyes. There were people running towards him, and where Dennison presumably was (Grant couldn't see him through the broken equipment and building materials), all of them shouting and impossible to understand. But Grant's eyes locked on his last-second rescuer.

Rick was crouched mere inches from the impact site, looking as though he'd landed there from a great height, as a hawk might fall upon a rabbit from above. He was eying the oncoming crowd warily. Grant could see that he was searching for something among the crowd.

He could guess what it was. Cameras. Everyone's phone had one. Rick, who desired to keep his past to himself, undoubtedly feared those phones. Nobody's camera feature had been in use when the accident occurred, but they were all being pulled out now.

Grant got quickly to his feet. Jack and Marlow, two of the workers, were the first to reach him.

"Get Ricky out of here," Grant said "keep those cameras off him,"

Grant didn't know why Rick feared to have his past known, but he could respect it. Besides, he _owed_ the kid for saving his life. Jack and Marlow turned to obey, but Rick was already gone, vanished in the chaos. Grant wondered if the kid would be back.

He guessed probably not.

* * *

With countless channels reporting news 24/7, the story of a heroic boy was bound to make it on television. Though no one had managed to film it, there were several eye witnesses, and by evening there had been a dramatic reenactment filmed for news purposes. And one witness had managed to get a shot of the boy kneeling in the mud after the fact. It was blurry enough that it could have been a picture of Bigfoot or a UFO, but the news ran it anyway.

News crews swarmed the area and attempted to interview the construction workers, most of whom had nothing to say, or at least nothing about the boy. The best they could get was from a man named Dennison, who revealed that the boy had been working with them for about a week.

The foreman, Grant Hauser, said the boy didn't want to be on television and his private affairs were his own. Hauser insisted that he'd hired the boy in the same manner as any of his other employees and, so far as he was concerned, the boy (who went unnamed) had as much right to privacy as any citizen.

The story quickly died for lack of cooperation on the part of its subject and lack of film evidence. Some bloggers added it to their websites, especially the handful who had also been witness to the event. As with most things that spread through the internet, much of the details were lost or as least changed to the point of being unrecognizable. In short, the description of the boy became anyone's guess. Some said he was thirteen with red hair, others that he was more like nineteen with black hair. Some even claimed he was a man, just a very small man.

But there were bigger and better stories to report on. Stories such as Nightwing, the vigilante who'd become a celebrity overnight. There were no pictures of him, though several talented artists had drawn pictures from his descriptions. Unfortunately, the accounts were many and varied, only maintaining that he had been dressed entirely in black, including a mask.

The news channels chose to show a picture of a figure standing in silhouette on a rooftop, which was probably the most accurate representation of Nightwing, if not terribly imaginative. Everybody wanted a piece of this Nightwing character, including local police.

The media had great fun stirring up arguments about whether Nightwing was hero or villain, and whether the police's interest in him was justified concern for public safety- or jealously that Nightwing was doing their jobs better than they could.

For the moment, the news about Blüdhaven's new hero was confined to local areas. But chances were good that he would at least make national television at some point. Heroes and villains were favorite topics of the media, highly controversial but always viewer favorites, these masked wonders were perfect for boosting ratings. A new hero would inevitably eventually begin being compared to more famous heroes, as residents of Blüdhaven had heated internet debates with residents of other cities over whose hero was the best, or the worst.

* * *

_January 7__th_

"I thought you'd be long gone by now," Grant said, genuinely surprised.

"I said I'd do my job, and that's what I'm here to do," Rick replied, sounding almost irritated that Grant should have so little faith in his word.

"I would have thought, with your love of secrecy and all, you'd want to avoid media attention,"

"I do," Rick said "but what's that got to do with anything?,"

"Well, you saved my life yesterday. Pretty newsworthy if you ask me,"

"That?. Nobody will even remember that by the end of the week," Rick scoffed "there's no camera footage, and none of you was willing to talk, so there's no human interest story. That story's dead and buried already,"

"And you know this because...,"

"I just do, alright?. Now am I working today or what?," The dark indigo eyes were challenging, but also somewhat wary.

Whatever he said, Rick had taken a chance trusting Grant. He must need the money pretty badly to risk showing up here. If he was, as Grant suspected, a kid living on his own, he probably got pretty hungry. And cold, assuming he had no real place to stay.

Grant was tempted to ask Rick about his current accommodations, but wisely decided against it. The boy was already cagey, if pressed he'd probably disappear entirely. Grant didn't especially want that, and so he simply held his tongue.

"Of course we're working today!," Grant exclaimed "this house isn't gonna build itself, now is it?,"

"Could happen," the boy said, shrugging.

Grant almost retorted, then saw the faint shadow of a smile playing at the corners of Rick's mouth. He realized Rick had just made a joke. He'd never heard Rick make a joke, or seen him smile.

Come to that, though the bruises he'd had on joining the crew had mostly faded, he seemed to have a new set almost every day. He tried to keep them covered, and it was generally pretty easy with the cold weather keeping everyone in heavy winter gear. But there was one above his right eye that Grant _knew_ hadn't been there yesterday. It also now occurred to him that Rick tended to favor his left shoulder, barely using that arm at all unless it was unavoidable.

Still, Grant made no comment. The kid's business was his own. That was the agreement they'd made when Rick had come to work for him, and Rick had certainly held up his end of the bargain. Who was Grant to break their deal?. Besides, he figured that, maybe, given enough time, the boy might open up and talk to him.

Little did he know that this boy was the kind who took his secrets to the grave. This was no mere boy at all, but Nightwing without his mask who was, in turn, Robin reincarnated.


	12. Chapter 12 - From the Ashes

_January 8__th_

_God, what have I done?._

This was Batman's first conscious thought. Before he'd even opened his eyes, he'd remembered it. All of it. Everything. And wished to God that he didn't. Almost wished he were dead, and was vaguely bewildered by the fact that he wasn't.

He opened his eyes somewhat reluctantly, which was harder than it seemed like it ought to have been. He felt terribly weak, which was understandable, considering...

The ceiling was grayish white and seemed very high up. Batman knew it at once. He was in the Watchtower. Without moving his head, he looked around. The room was empty. It wasn't the usual recovery room, but one they used as a prison cell. The door to it was shut and presumably locked. Considering what had happened, that was reasonable.

He passed out again.

When he awoke, he lay still for awhile, but then tried sitting up. It was hard, but not impossible. He was consumed by the need to know what had befallen Robin. He knew it was unlikely that Robin would ever speak to him, or even allow him to approach, again. But he had to know Robin was alright, or at least going to be.

It wasn't long before someone came into the room. There was a camera mounted in the corner. As soon as Batman sat up, someone noticed. It was Superman who entered, his expression carefully bland, his manner reserved and perhaps even suspicious.

"It's good to see you awake," Superman commented.

"You didn't come down here to exchange pleasantries. What do you want?," Batman was in no mood for wasting time with small talk.

"We need answers. And it seems you're the only one who may have them," Superman said "beginning with this: where's Robin?,"

"I was hoping you could tell me," Batman growled uneasily "isn't he here?,"

"No,"

"Then how did I get here?,"

"Flash found you," Superman replied "lying in a train car and bleeding to death. Nobody has seen any sign of Robin. Was he the one who attacked you?,"

Batman sighed wearily and, for perhaps the first time since they'd known each other, averted his gaze from Superman's, unable to meet it.

"I drove him to it," he said quietly "I'm only sorry he didn't do it sooner,"

"What do you mean?," Superman asked, but Batman didn't answer, instead changing the subject.

"You have to find him, Kal-El. I need to know if he's alright,"

"Obviously he's not, if he tried to kill you," Superman said.

"You don't understand-," Batman began, but was interrupted harshly.

"Then explain it to me!,"

It was not Superman's habit to interrupt people when they were speaking, but he didn't like that his questions were going unanswered. Batman was being more evasive than usual, and his behavior was very odd, which made Superman uneasy.

"I... can't," Batman whispered finally "because I don't understand what happened, or why. But I know it has something to do with that slug,"

"Where did the slug come from?," Superman asked sharply.

"Originally?. I don't know. But when Robin cut my throat, that _thing_ felt out of the wound. And everything... in my mind... changed. It wasn't... exactly controlling me. But it made me so angry, so irrational... I was intoxicated by its hatred of all that lived and breathed,"

"And yet, you didn't kill anyone," Superman observed.

"No. My rage found its focus on Robin," Batman admitted "it was the only way,"

"The only way?. What are you talking about?,"

"As I said, the slug wasn't truly controlling me. It more... perverted my way of thinking, acting as a poison on my thoughts,"

"But your bond with Robin was able to transcend that," Superman guessed.

"Hardly," Batman growled "only insofar as I was able to resist the urge to kill him. Until the end, when I would have... I tried to. By then I was so drunk on the slug's toxin that he was able to get the better of me. To escape,"

"Do you have any idea where he might have gone?,"

Batman shook his head "no. He wouldn't dare go anywhere I might expect him to. He won't be in Gotham, or anywhere else you might think to look for him. I was hoping he'd come here, but evidently he no longer believes he can trust the Team or the League,"

"Why wouldn't he?," Superman asked.

"Because," Batman said patiently "I managed to turn the Team against him. They helped me catch him. He wouldn't risk being caught again,"

"So how am I supposed to find him?,"

"I don't know. But you have to... you just... have to,"

* * *

_January 14__th__, 07:30 PM_

Wally had gone to the Team, but none of them knew anything. They had looked for Robin, everywhere they could think of, they had searched. Aqualad was able to tell him that Batman was at the Watchtower, recovering from some kind of injury. More than that he did not know.

So Wally contacted the Watchtower and spoke with someone there, but they couldn't help much, either. At the time, Batman was still comatose. Wally had set to looking for Robin on his own, hoping that maybe he could think of some places to look that the Team hadn't considered. Or at least hadn't remembered. But he had no luck.

When he returned to Mount Justice, tired and discouraged, he found that, in the days he'd been gone, Batman had woken up, but evidently knew nothing of value save for the fact that Robin would not likely return to the Team, Gotham or Mount Justice. That, Wally had already guessed.

Though he asked, nobody told him how Batman had been injured, or what had happened. They evaded his questions, which only increased his fear for his friend. _Something_ had happened. Something bad. But he didn't know what that something was.

Wally felt despair growing in him. He knew he couldn't give up looking, even if it took him forever. But that was exactly what he was afraid of. He could search his whole life for Robin. But, if Robin didn't want to be found, Wally could never find him.

If he did find Robin, then what?. What did it matter?. Robin could undoubtedly take care of himself, and evidently had no inclination to return to the Team. Was it really Wally's place to try and drag him back?. How was he supposed to understand what he needed to do in order to help his friend when he didn't even know what was wrong or where to begin looking for him?.

It was like one of those hopelessly complicated quests in fantasy novels.

Except that he had no one to guide him and no clue as to what it was he was supposed to be doing. And the longer he stayed at Mount Justice, the more he could feel that old familiar yearning. To be out saving the world, running rings around the Team, fighting bad guys and racing against time.

It was the fourteenth when he finally got his clue.

Batman, evidently still recovering but able to move about on his own, came to Mount Justice. Someone had told him that Wally had returned and was looking for Robin.

"I know where you can begin looking," Batman said, without pretext.

"What?. Where?," Wally asked.

Instead of answering, Batman went to the Mount Justice computer and opened up a browser to a news website. He clicked a link and a bunch of text sprang up. At the heading of the page there was a picture, or a drawing rather. The article seemed to be a detailed account of the activities of a vigilante who'd turned up in a city called Blüdhaven His name was Nightwing, and the drawing at the top was done by an artist who'd caught sight of the vigilante. It was his symbol, in much the same way as the bat symbol belonged to Batman.

"All very interesting, but what's it got to do with Robin?," Wally wanted to know.

"When Robin was nine, he liked to draw," Batman replied "he drew that emblem. It's a phoenix,"

"It's blue," Wally retorted.

"Nevertheless, that is Robin's drawing come to life. I believe Nightwing and Robin may be one and the same. Where you find one, you will find the other,"

"Great. So what do I do, run around Blüdhaven committing crimes until Nightwing comes to stop me?," Wally grumbled.

"I don't care what you do," Batman growled, drawing himself to his full height "But I can't go there. However, he is your friend and you're the one who was looking for him, so I thought you should know," he turned and began to stalk away.

"Wait... why can't you go there?," Wally asked.

"Because," Batman hissed over his shoulder "he'd kill me. Or worse,"

"What?!. Why?," but Batman didn't answer, he just kept walking.

* * *

_January 15__th__, 01:05 AM_

"I really hate this guy," Cole sighed, taking in the scene of yet another robbery-gone-wrong.

Three men lay about the floor of the bank in various conditions, all of them were bleeding and looked like broken dolls. The bank alarm had gone off, drawn the police, but once again there was nothing for them to do save keep an eye on the place until the owner arrived and then take the suspects in.

"Hey, crime has gone way down the last few weeks," Leeson protested "how can you argue with that?. Our jobs are easier, petty criminals are mostly too scared to commit crimes in the first place and the rest are so dumb they get caught or Nightwing takes 'em out for us. I don't see your problem,"

Cole pointed to the injured men lying on the floor, at the blood spatters on the walls, at a shattered wooden baseball bat, which may or may not have belonged to one of the suspects.

"That's my problem. Crime may be down, but violence has gone _up_," Cole growled.

"Better the muggers than the little old ladies,"

"Again, what happens when your beloved hero goes too far?. What happens when he kills someone, maybe someone _innocent_?. Then what?,"

"You talk about him as though he's a rabid dog,"

"Isn't he?," Cole snapped "what sane, rational, thinking human being goes out every night and beats random strangers to within an inch of their lives?. We're dealing with a real werewolf, a man who has no thought but violence. Maybe his conscience is still dictating who he attacks, but eventually there will be nothing standing between him and us. Can't you see that?,"

"You worry too much," Leeson grumbled evenly "you've had more altercations with suspects than I have. Tell me, do they come out of it without damage?,"

Cole glared, but didn't answer. He was younger than Leeson by at least ten years, but he'd been on the police force longer. There were things he'd seen here that he would never be able to put behind him. He'd seen this kind of violence before. He didn't like vigilantes, didn't like what they stood for. But this Nightwing character was more than that.

This was the sort of violence done by one who'd lost all care, all sense of humanity or control. Someone lashing out with malicious seething hatred. More than bodies were broken. Much of the furniture in the bank was shattered into pieces. That hadn't happened in a fight. Someone had deliberately vented vicious rage on those items.

But how could he explain that to Leeson, who steadfastly believed anyone doing their job must be in some way good and like them?. How could he explain that the evidence this Nightwing left behind was a cry for help, coming from a damaged psyche?. That this was someone taking revenge for some perceived slight out on those who had no hope of defending themselves against his onslaught?.

"I'll put it this way: when he up and kills someone in a fit of rage, I won't say 'I told you so'," Cole said finally, unaware that his words reached the ears of another, who heard and understood their implication, perhaps better than Cole himself.

Nightwing stood in the shadows of the bank, listening to the two officers talking. He heard the truth of Cole's words. He had known heroes who'd gone over the edge, crossed that paper-thin line. Cole was right. Unchecked, Nightwing would eventually kill, and not just to defend his own life.

But what else could he do?. He couldn't stand the dark. The only thing that relieved the stake of fear running through his heart was to lash out. Even during the day he still felt fear as he anticipated the coming of the night. In the dark lay memories he wanted to forget, a world of pain brought to life by his mind. And so he hunted. All through the night he hunted for those he could take his anger and fear out on. The criminal element. But he had lost the control he'd been taught to have.

He'd lost more than his name in that lightless prison. And now he was lashing out at someone who no longer existed, someone he'd killed. He was also, in a way, attacking himself for being afraid. Trying to destroy the fear itself. He knew, and understood the danger. But there was no way out, not for him.

He knew how this must play out. He would begin doing more damage than he was preventing. Someone would put a stop to it. If not the police, who had no hope of catching him, then some hero who heard the news that there was an out-of-control vigilante in Blüdhaven. They would come, seek him out, find him wherever he was, and then they would destroy him. Or perhaps he them.

The prospect didn't bother him. Just as he was no longer stopping criminals because of a sense of justice, he was no longer living because he enjoyed doing so. He existed solely for the sake of it, continuing only because his training and instincts refused to let him die.

Perhaps he had arisen from ashes, but he was not the better for it.

He slipped away into the night to seek out more victims, and to await the inevitable.

* * *

_12:37 PM_

"Hey, is it just me or is Ricky a little preoccupied today?," Dennison asked.

They were breaking for lunch. Rick was, as usual, keeping his distance from the rest. Also as usual, he was perching on the framework for the roof of the building as though unaware of the sharp slant or the long distance between himself and the ground.

"He's never much of a talker," Marlow observed mildly, more interested in his sandwich than conversation at the moment.

Grant looked up at Rick, who seemed to have virtually forgotten his own meal in favor of staring off into the distance. Crazy as it sounded, it almost looked as though he were waiting for someone. And not especially eagerly, but more with an air of quietly bitter resignation. He wouldn't have voiced the thought himself, but Jack did it for him.

"It's like he's expecting someone," he said.

"Like who?," Marlow scoffed "Somebody should tell him Santa Claus has already come and gone,"

"Maybe someone's come to take him home," Dennison suggested "I mean, what do we really know about him?. Maybe he's some poor rich kid who ran away from home and isn't finding it as easy or fun to be out on his own as he hoped,"

"If that kid's never worked a day in his life then I'm the Tooth Fairy," Jack laughed "he works like he's a pro at it. Maybe not construction, but taking instructions and working hard for long hours without much in the way of payoff. I'd say he's used to that, sure enough,"

"Maybe so," Grant mumbled distractedly "but he's sure waiting for something,"

He was right. The boy sitting on the half-finished rooftop was waiting for the end. A creature born from the depths of Hell, doomed to die in darkness. Without meaning, without purpose.

Very well. So be it.


	13. Chapter 13 - Feral

_A/N: As I won't be online tomorrow, I decided I'd upload this chapter early. So you know, no chapter tomorrow. But things should be back to normal on Friday. Sorry for any inconvenience._

* * *

_January 16__th__, 12:03 AM_

Kid Flash had arrived in Blüdhaven during the afternoon, but was well aware of the futility of seeking Nightwing during daylight hours. He'd hung around the city in civilian clothes, taking in the atmosphere and looking for likely trouble spots where Nightwing might be inclined to hang out.

As darkness began to fall, Kid Flash felt a twinge of unease. That sixth sense used by every superhero to sense danger was telling him that there was something in the night that he did not want to meet. There was a chill in the air that had nothing to do with temperature. A predator stalked the night, a perfect killing machine, which Kid Flash had the uncanny impression was as aware of his presence as he was of it. He didn't know where it was, but the eery feeling of something preternatural easing its way through the dark was hard to ignore.

He knew then, and perhaps always had, that he would not be finding Nightwing. Nightwing was going to be finding _him_.

This suddenly seemed like a bad idea. Kid Flash couldn't remember the last time he'd felt nervous walking an ordinary street, even in a bad neighborhood. His speed and racing metabolism were enough to protect him from virtually any normal attacker. And yet, he felt the danger increase with each passing second. As the sky turned black and the majority of Blüdhaven's population retreated to their homes, he felt almost on the verge of panic.

He knew why. Something unseen was hunting him, following his every movement. He tried running for awhile, but sensed that whatever it was could predict his movements, or somehow follow them, perhaps from above. The only place of safety lay outside the city of Blüdhaven. But he couldn't leave. Not until he'd spoken with Nightwing.

And so he pressed on, breath frosting white in the frozen air, walking silent icy streets, waiting for he knew not what, yet had every sense alert for. He looked up from time to time, both expecting to see Nightwing on a rooftop and knowing he would not see Nightwing until he wanted to be seen.

He finally stopped in an alley. Whatever or whoever was following him, they were going to have to come and get him here, or go on with whatever business they had elsewhere.

"I knew someone would come," the voice behind him both did and did not startle Kid Flash, and he turned to face the shadow figure... Nightwing "but why did it have to be you?,"

He stood with his feet apart, holding an eskrima stick in either hand, head down but eyes forward, piercing gaze boring right through Kid Flash as though he wasn't even there.

Kid Flash knew the voice at once, and knew the eyes as well. But the rest was a stranger to him, including the frozen fire which burned like silver ice within his eyes. It had been Nightwing who'd given Kid Flash the bad feeling he'd had all night.

"Robin...," Kid Flash began, but Nightwing cut him off savagely.

"Robin is dead!," he nearly shouted, trembling with a feeling Kid Flash wasn't prepared to guess at "and if you've come for what's left, you'll have to fight for it,"

"What are you talking about?," Kid Flash asked, taking a step backward.

Nightwing regarded him with open hostility, in the same way he'd looked upon the many villains they'd faced together in the past, as if Kid Flash were neither friend nor stranger, but a terrible foe. Kid Flash realized for the first time just how far his friend had been driven over the edge.

"How did this happen?," Kid Flash asked "why are you being like this?,"

"You ought to know," Nightwing hissed, suddenly shifting his stance and moving more into the shadows "you helped make me this way,"

"Me?. What did I do?,"

He almost didn't want Nightwing to answer. He knew there could only be a single, condemning answer, the same one which he had told himself over and over since before he'd even left the Team. Nightwing melted into the shadows, vanishing in the darkness, then reappearing right beside Kid Flash, whispering the answer, which stung like a lash from a whip.

"Nothing,"

Kid Flash turned towards the voice, but Nightwing was already gone.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves. He'd never had reason to fear his friend before, there was no reason to be afraid now. No matter what had happened, Kid Flash had to believe his trusted friend and teammate was still in there somewhere. That person would never hurt him. Even if the creature on the surface wanted to, the person he knew would never allow that to happen. Nightwing would not hurt him. He had to believe that.

"Well I'm here now," Kid Flash said, glad to hear that his voice sounded steady.

The words did not have the desired pacifying effect. Nightwing was back where he'd started, slowly pacing in the same way that a caged tiger might, keeping one eye on Kid Flash at all times. Kid Flash knew it would be a mistake to move. In fact, he was beginning to suspect that it had been a mistake to come here at all. Nightwing hadn't wanted to be found, and maybe with good reason.

"What happened to you?," Kid Flash expected no answer to this, and got none.

Nightwing moved as though he were impatient to be on his way to somewhere, as if he had some place to be, or something to do which could not be done until he'd finished this encounter. He looked as though he felt hunted, paced as a trapped beast might, anger and frustration seething from him almost like smoke. And yet, there was a strange look in his dark eyes, as though he had already seen the future and resigned himself to it. He was waiting, Kid Flash finally realized, for the end.

It could be the end of their conversation, or the end of the world. Either one seemed equally likely, and Kid Flash really didn't want to guess which it might be. Suddenly Nightwing stopped and looked skyward, as though he'd heard something. Instinctively, Kid Flash looked up as well, but saw nothing save the tops of buildings and the wintery night sky.

"Go home, Wally," Nightwing said, his face still turned toward the sky "you left this world behind, don't make me drag you back into it. Let me die as I see fit,"

"What?," Kid Flash felt he'd missed something.

But, once again, Nightwing declined to answer his question. Kid Flash watched him walk away into the night, and wondered if he should follow. He didn't know what he'd been expecting when he set out in search of his friend, but this wasn't it.

He felt as if this wasn't the boy he'd known at all as his friend. Nightwing was a stranger to him. Kid Flash knew nothing about him, except that his reactions were unpredictable and apparently irrational.

"Nightwing, wait," but by the time he said this, Nightwing was already gone.

He wasn't sure what to do. Normally when a mission was going awry, he'd call for backup. But this wasn't some villain that needed hunting down, or a hostage in need of rescuing. This time it was different. Kid Flash didn't see how the Team would be able to help on this one.

He was tempted to go to Batman, and demand to know what had happened. He was sure Batman knew, but he was equally certain that The Bat would never talk. At least, not so long as Nightwing maintained his own silence on the subject.

He decided that the only thing to do was stay in Blüdhaven, at least for the time being. Nightwing could find him if he wanted to. But, until then, Kid Flash wasn't going to chase him. His friend had never forced his advice on Kid Flash, what right had he to do what Nightwing never had?. He knew that Nightwing had long been aware of his desire to leave the Team, but Nightwing had never said a word about it, not until Kid Flash had spoken with him about it. Now it was time for Kid Flash to follow his friend's example. The best thing to do was to simply be there, be silent, and wait for Nightwing to come to him.

Trouble was, Kid Flash had never been a patient person. He wasn't sure that he could make himself wait long enough. But it was right, it was what his friend needed, and so he would do his best for Nightwing's sake.

* * *

Seeing Kid Flash had brought back the old familiar ache of loneliness. Nightwing didn't want to be alone. He missed the Team. But he couldn't go back to them. Even if they let him back in, they couldn't possibly overlook what he'd done, or what he was likely to do. Surely by now they knew he'd killed Batman. That was something he could never explain away, something he could not contrive a believable excuse for.

He knew that he had acted in self-defense, that it had been his only chance at escape. Truly he knew that. But it still felt wrong. Perhaps because he couldn't convince himself that he'd done it for a reason. Though there were good reasons, his reason for lashing out had been irrational. He'd simply had enough. It went further than fear or rage, or self preservation or even revenge. It was something deeper than even instinct.

And since then, little by little, his former fear had turned to anger and then to something even more deeply savage. He was a killer now, and felt not even a scrap of remorse for it. He strangely felt a perverted guilt for his lack of guilt, but that was not enough for a chance at redemption.

He'd thought he could face anyone. That his lack of feeling and his own feral nature was enough to allow him to kill anyone who came for him without hesitation. To defend himself, or to die, with equal willingness. But when he saw Wally, he somehow couldn't do it.

He couldn't bear to attack, or to allow Wally to do it either. Wally was his friend, and had wanted out of the life. He wanted Wally to have that freedom. And, if Wally was ever dragged back in, he certainly didn't want to be the reason for that. He hoped that his old friend would grant him this one thing, that Wally would go home. Nightwing could face anyone. Anyone but him.

* * *

_01:30 AM_

Nightwing had wandered aimlessly for a time, lost in his own thoughts. The sound of an alarm going off got his attention at once. Swiftly he headed toward the sound, coming to a stop a street or two over and climbing onto a rooftop for a better view of the area.

Someone had broken into a jewelry store. The hooded figure had already climbed back out the window, having found all the jewels secured for the night. Whoever he was, he wasn't very bright, to expect that valuable merchandise would be left virtually open to theft with nothing but a bit of glass and a cheap alarm system to protect it.

Nightwing didn't stop to think. Immediately he swept in to take the would-be criminal down. Closing in, he saw that his opponent was little older than he was. They were speaking, but he didn't catch what they said, plowing right into the other boy with his shoulder, knocking him flat.

Nightwing wouldn't be able to sort out what exactly transpired until later.

A white sedan came around the corner and a man leaped out. He came running towards Nightwing, who by this time had pinned the boy beneath him and was choking him, struggling with his own emotions, trying to regain the control which he had lost.

"Stop!. Stop, that's my son!. Get off him, you bastard!," Nightwing barely heard the words and didn't even feel the man pummeling him, noticing him as much as a bear might notice someone beating it with a small stick.

But a new sound came to him, this one he recognized at once. A siren. A police car came around the corner from the opposite end of the street, lights flashing and siren blaring. Nightwing at once let the boy go and backed off. He was out in the open. He'd forgotten to mind his surroundings and had to look for a shadowy place to disappear to. As he was doing this, a very young police officer leaped out of her vehicle and drew her firearm.

A warning flashed in Nightwing's mind. The man was kneeling beside his son. But it was dark, and the police woman was taking aim at him, thinking he was trying to hurt the boy.

"No!," Nightwing cried out "don't!,"

He either spoke too late, or his cry went ignored. The bullet fired from the gun in an explosion of sound which seemed to go down into the very depths of the Earth. The world seemed to stop for an instant, all was sound and noise drowned in the silence of horror.

No sooner had the man been shot than the officer opened fire on Nightwing, who took off running. There was nothing else he could do. The situation was too far out of hand. He'd let it get out of hand. He'd made that happen. He'd been stupid, and now... sorrow pierced his heart like an arrow.

The guilt he'd been unable to feel until now hit him so hard that he actually staggered and fell to his knees. Had anyone managed to follow him that far, they could have finished him then and there. But they hadn't.

"It shouldn't have happened," Nightwing told the frozen night air "it should have been me!,"

He wrapped his arms around himself and rocked on his knees, his body wracked with sobs whose origins he couldn't even recall, but couldn't stop even if he had wanted to.

* * *

_07:20 AM_

Nightwing returned to the warehouse where he'd been staying with the dawn. He had spent the night trying to think, to reason out. For the first time in a long time, he stopped to consider his actions. For so long he'd let himself run on automatic, acting without thinking. Existing without living.

He was tired. He was so damn tired. He was the kind of bone weary that comes from month after month of intense toil and difficulty. He just wanted to rest. He wanted to lie down, to stay there, long after the sun had come and gone, and just wait for the end of all things, or his own demise, whichever happened to come first.

He had not moved from the place he had originally found refuge. He'd had no need to. Nobody cared about this old warehouse. With the money he'd been earning from his job, he'd been able to purchase the supplies and equipment he needed to survive and become Nightwing.

He lay down on the sleeping bag he'd bought used at a garage sale, not expecting to go to sleep. But that's what he did, almost immediately.

And he dreamed...

….he stood in the dark once again. The place he always stood in his dreams these days. The place his soul had come to be. A place without warmth, without hope. He knew he was dreaming, and yet that did not make it any less terrible, any less real.

_What are you doing here?. Are you lost?._

He bowed his head, at last resigned to his fate. He saw no alternative but to wait there in the dark, for the terrible flame to come and wipe everything away. Carried away by a rush of serpent-like flames, consumed by hate and fear. Lost. That was a good word for it. Lost in the dark.

But, for once, he was not afraid. Or angry. In a moment of clarity, the chaos of his spirit had grown still. He had no focus, no clear purpose, no goal, no reason why he did anything he was doing. But he had believed he was beyond caring, that nothing mattered to him anymore.

When the light came, it was not brought by fire. It was as if an enormous spotlight had clicked on and was shining down from the heavens. In that light played the images of the night before. The boy, the man, the gun. The roar of its firing was more deafening than it had been in real life, a sound of such force as to drive Nightwing to his knees. He fell and covered his ears, but couldn't close his eyes against the sight which was before him.

_See what your self pity has done._

A man had died. An innocent man. Senseless violence had taken a boy's father from him. The images were suddenly not of that night, but a night not long before, in an icy train yard. A frightened boy lashed out at one who was both bitter tormentor and beloved father. It now came clear, that the emotion he had felt then was not the rage or fear he had supposed it to be.

_This is a road which leads nowhere, yet has a clear and abrupt end._

It went still deeper than that. It had been love. The greatest hurt of all, the one he had been unable to bear, was seeing his father become a monster, consumed by vile and unspeakable evil, no longer the man he knew, but a perfect stranger using his face and name to commit terrible atrocities.

It was this that had driven him his whole life. Love for his family, for his friends, and for his city.

_Wake up and live._

All was not lost. A spark of hope had been awoken in the darkness. A reason to be, to continue, to survive, and to keep fighting...

….Nightwing's eyes flashed open, and he knew what he had to do.


	14. Chapter 14 - Phobia

_January 16__th_

"_A tragedy occurred earlier today. Sixteen year old Tyler Bowen started to rob a jewelry store but then had an attack of conscience. He called his father to help him and waited for the police to arrive. Before they did, he was attacked by Nightwing, Blüdhaven's own vigilante. When Officer Dana Smith arrived on the scene, Nightwing used Tyler's own father as a decoy to facilitate his own escape. Forty two year old Frank Bowen is dead, his son is in the hospital with severe injuries. Officer Smith had this to say:"_

"_It was dark, I couldn't see too well. I should have made sure of my target, but there wasn't time. I saw a person on the ground, with a second person bending over them. I believed they were an assailant, and there was a third retreating. I opened fire"_

"_Officer Smith, who only graduated from the police academy a year ago, may have her career ended by the cruel act of the vigilante Nightwing. The question is: who will be next on his list of victims?"_

* * *

"See, what did I tell you?," Cole demanded "what did I say?,"

"You and I both know Dana's been trigger-happy from day one. She should never have been given a badge and gun in the first place," Leeson disagreed "aside from which, Nightwing didn't do anything except maybe attack a kid who was going to commit a crime but then had a sudden change of heart. And the kid's gonna be okay. Wasn't his fault some trigger-happy officer mistook an innocent for an accomplice,"

"You still don't get it, do you?," Cole growled "this thing isn't going to happen all at once. This guy's gone down a deep, dark pit of the mind and, if we don't stop him, he'll drag this whole city down with him. Somebody's gotta put a stop to this,"

"Who?. You?. What are you going to do?. Put on a mask and pretend to be a bad guy until the vigilante shows up?. And then what?,"

"Whatever I have to to get this nut off the streets," Cole told him "I will not stand by while this character makes a mess of my city and then burns it down,"

* * *

"This is not good," Green Arrow commented "your sidekick's gone off the rails,"

"No," Batman said, his tone flat.

"People are starting to get hurt because of his actions," Green Arrow persisted "you and I both know the picture isn't at all what the media painted for us, but something's gone very wrong with that kid. He's lost his sense of direction,"

Batman grit his teeth, evidently biting back the reply he wanted to make. He wanted to say that it wasn't Nightwing's fault, that he'd been driven to it. But none of that mattered. How he'd gone over the edge was not the concern. The concern was what he was now capable of doing.

"Somebody's gotta go straighten him out,"

Naturally, they all looked at Batman. Batman wanted to say no, wanted to tell them that it was best if he and Nightwing never again laid eyes on one another. But he couldn't. He couldn't ask anyone to go in his place, not with Nightwing in such an unpredictable state.

"Take the Team with you," Superman suggested "they may be able to reason with him,"

Batman had not told him everything. But he'd said enough.

Batman saw the wisdom of this advice, even though he would have preferred to go alone. He knew Kid Flash was already in Blüdhaven, and had heard the news, no doubt. He'd be looking for Nightwing too. Even so, bringing the rest of the Team probably wasn't a bad idea.

Nightwing might listen to them. Maybe they could help him. Lord knows Batman wanted to, but he couldn't see how. After everything, he knew there was only one reaction Nightwing could have on seeing him.

"We'll go tomorrow night. Nightwing will be lying low with all this media attention focused on him. We'd never find him," Batman said.

He knew that they wouldn't be finding Nightwing _at all_. Nightwing would find them. But the first part of what he said still stood. At least, he hoped it did. If Nightwing showed himself tonight, then he was further gone than Batman even imagined.

* * *

Batman knew sleep would not be possible, and so he sat in the batcave thinking and waiting for the day to pass into night. At least, that's what he thought he was doing. In reality, he did fall asleep.

He dreamed that he had entered Blüdhaven, which for some reason was a black city of ruins hidden in the mists of time and smoke of disaster. He was alone, calling Nightwing's name, his voice echoing through the lonely streets, the cry going unheard by all save the demonic shadows slithering about through the fog, their tongues flicking in and out of twisted mouths like misshapen snakes.

Out of the dark came a shadow creature, neither man nor beast, fitting no description of anything either real or myth, appearing from the shadows like a ghost, standing before him like a stone behemoth, fire spewing from its open mouth and staring down at him with eyes of liquid fire.

He knew, in the way that you know things in dreams, that this was somehow Nightwing.

"You!," a voice boomed out, crumbling what remained of the building walls and shaking the very night to pieces "look what you've done!,"

At the monster's feet there lay an infant child. Batman looked, and saw that the baby was gray and dead, its pale eyes forever open and gazing in terror as though it had seen the face of Hell before its death, its small mouth wide in a silent scream.

"What you have destroyed," the behemoth rumbled, flames flashing past its hideous fangs "can never be rebuilt. What you have done," it hissed, its rancid breath blowing past Batman's face "you can never undo,"

"I don't want you to forgive me for my sake," Batman told the apparition "but for yours,"

"There is no forgiveness in this heart for the likes of you," the beast snarled, snapping its jaws angrily "you have left nothing but a dead husk. It exists, but is not alive. I cannot feel what you want,"

"No. You don't have to let this be your fate. You don't have to become a monster because that's what I was," Batman shouted, but his voice sounded faint and far away.

"Better that than the alternative," the beast grumbled, lowering its voice slightly "I broke your chain. In doing so, I ended the evil that began in that fire, not so long ago,"

"But you. What about you?,"

"Consumed!," the flames burned Batman's face when the monster screamed the word.

It then flapped its great smoke wings, blowing hot air towards Batman and generating a wind so strong that it almost knocked him down.

"Yet I continue!," the creature continued, fire and smoke filling the air and crackling so loud the beast was almost drowned out "I know of no other way. Like the phoenix, I have been reborn,"

"Into what?," Batman shouted, but the wind snatched his words away.

"Reborn!," the words echoed through the air, sounding like a dirge "Reborn!. Reborn!,"

_Reborn._

"Into what?!. I have to know!. Tell me!,"

Batman awoke with a jerk. He did not normally allow dreams to disturb him once he woke, but this one was far too close to reality for comfort. He realized, for the first time, that he was afraid to face Nightwing. Not because of what Nightwing might do to him, but because of what seeing him might do to Nightwing.

* * *

As darkness fell, Nightwing grew restless. It was easy to say it was time to stop being afraid, but actually doing that was another thing. Aside from that, long habit beckoned him out onto the rooftops, calling him to go and do what he did best. The thing that made him what he was.

He knew that, if he was to survive, he must act wisely. Or not act, as the case might be. The police would be looking for him tonight, more than any other night. He couldn't hide forever, of course. But it would be foolish to set out tonight, knowing the police would be out in force. Not to mention the media. Nightwing was big news now, everyone wanted a piece of him.

He paced around for awhile, and then looked out the grime-covered windows of the warehouse. It was a clear night for once. The moon and the stars shone brightly here, the docks below were too dark to blot them out. But their light brought him no warmth or good cheer.

He had lived so long as a wild animal might, with need and desire his only motives, never thinking about consequences, that he had almost forgotten what it was like to behave with restraint. It reminded him of those long hours in the room by himself. He had always resented confinement, but his loathing for it had increased a thousand fold. He was repulsed by it to the point of feeling the need to strike out at something, anything.

He hit one of the training dummies he'd set up. It made him feel a little better, so he attacked it more vigorously. Within a few minutes, he'd broken it into pieces. He'd put so much effort into destroying it that he was panting, but still the feeling of resentment remained. He scattered the pieces of the ruined dummy, then kicked them one by one into the corner to be dealt with later.

He shook himself, trying to rid himself of his restlessness. It wasn't brought on by anger, not this time. Nor was fear its cause. He didn't know what it was, except for habit. Training, experience, routine.

He decided he wouldn't think about it. He lay down and tried to sleep, but couldn't. He wasn't used to sleeping nights. Early in the morning and some in the afternoon or evening depending on the work schedule was when he slept. He didn't sleep at night, and trying proved a useless waste of time.

At midnight, he finally broke down.

He told himself he was only going to be looking down from the rooftops, that he would avoid trouble at all costs. But he knew this was a lie. If there was trouble, he would leap right into the middle of it. It was in his nature to do so. It was both his desire and his need to protect those who needed it, and to see that justice was done. Sometimes it wasn't easy, sometimes it wasn't pretty, but it had to be done and he, and those like him, were sometimes the only ones who could.

He could no more ignore what he was born to be than he could prevent the sun from rising in the morning.

Strange to think that he could so resent confinement in one context, yet contentedly and willfully resign himself to it in another. He supposed that it was the difference between what was right and what wasn't. What should be, what could be, and what must be.

* * *

_January 17__th__, 02:30 AM_

"Hey, look up there. Is that what I think it is?," Cole asked.

He was driving and had only looked up for an instant. Leeson, riding shot gun, looked up. At first, he wasn't sure what he was supposed to be looking for. But then what looked like a shadow made a leap from one roof to another, revealing its true nature as being nothing other than Nightwing.

"Yeah," Leeson answered reluctantly "that's Nightwing alright,"

"Fool doesn't know when to quit," Cole growled "I'm going to follow him,"

"Are you serious?," Leeson demanded "don't you think you're overreacting just a little?,"

"Hell no," Cole replied "I should have done more to run this bastard down the moment he arrived. Maybe, if I had, Tyler Bowen would still have a father to come home to,"

He told Leeson to keep an eye out for Nightwing, and let him know when and where to turn while he kept his eyes on the road. He didn't anticipate any difficulty in keeping up with the vigilante, but he was wrong. Though Nightwing was either oblivious of them or simply didn't care, he covered ground fast, often taking routes that cars were unable to. Cole thought more than once that they'd lost him, but then they'd catch sight of him again.

"Shouldn't we report the sighting?," Leeson asked after several minutes.

"I don't know what you heard at the briefing, but I don't recall anything concerning vigilante sightings. If we lose him, we'll have wasted the department's time and resources. We should figure out where he's going first," Cole reasoned.

Leeson didn't particularly agree with that logic, but knew it was futile to argue with Cole, and so he didn't. Of course, there was also the fact that he didn't really want to arrest Nightwing. He was only now beginning to have doubts about the heroic nature of Nightwing, but not enough that he wanted to run the guy in. At least, not yet.

So focused were they on following Nightwing that they failed to realize where he was taking them. Leeson was looking up, watching for the flitting of the shadow figure above, and Cole was preoccupied with what he would do once they finally caught Nightwing.

The buildings got dirtier and rougher, the street was in disrepair. Trash littered the unkempt sidewalks, and weeds had sprung up between the cracks in the concrete during the warmer months, though now they lay frozen and dead. But Cole and Leeson noticed none of this. Nor did they take note of the vagrants sitting in little alcoves and observing them pass with a mixture of curiosity and apathy. It wasn't often police came this way, especially in such small numbers.

In fact, they didn't realize until too late that they'd crossed into the territory of a gang, who had a special hatred of cops, and generally all figures of authority. The roar of a truck's engine was the only forewarning. Cole tried to brake and hit reverse before the truck came out of the alley, but to no avail.

A black pick-up with words and symbols spray-painted in red all over its hood and sides lunged out of the alleyway like a panther covered in warpaint. The front of the truck slammed into the side of the police cruiser, and the smaller car gave. Metal shrieked as the two vehicles tore into each other, groaning as the cruiser folded on itself and skidded deafeningly across the road and into an unlit lamp post.

Then, suddenly, there was silence.

Cole had hit his head against the steering wheel. Blood flowed down between his eyes. He was stunned and unable to move or even think for several seconds. When he finally could think, he realized that the driver's side door had crumpled and his left leg was now pinned. He wasn't sure if it hurt or not, he was still too much shocked to process it.

He looked over at Leeson. Leeson had struck his head against the passenger window and lay slumped in his seat, blood oozing from the side of his head. Cole looked the other way, at the black pickup, which was just now backing away.

Cole heard the ominous sounds of rattling chains and malicious laughter, but his head was swimming and it was too dark to see much. The pickup's headlights were on, but they brought blinding light only to the interior of the totaled police cruiser.

There was a 'thump', which rocked the cruiser. Cole looked up instinctively, though he couldn't see anything, of course. The roof prevented that, but he could hear someone shifting their weight on it, perhaps taking a step to one side or the other.

"Who the hell is this?," a strange voice shouted, seeming amused.

"Some kind of junkie," another guffawed.

"Hey, man, this our neighborhood, and this is our party. You... you get out," the first voice yelled.

Cole could dimly see a blurry figure moving around the side of the pickup towards the cruiser. They halted when a third voice growled. At first, there didn't seem to be words, but Cole wasn't sure because his head was spinning. It could have been anything. But he did finally make out a few words.

"This is my city now. If you know what's good for you, you'll all go home, right now," evidently this went ignored, as a second threat rang out, more clearly "do not take another step towards this vehicle!,"

"Ooh, we're scared now!," chortled one voice.

"Shaking in our boots," laughed another.

That was the last Cole heard. A new figure emerged, leaping down from above like a great black bird, standing silhouetted in the headlights. But not for long. There was a fight. It was fast, bloody, brutal, from what Cole could see. But he lost consciousness before he saw the end of it.

Having taken down the entire gang, or all that was present, Nightwing turned to the cruiser. He smashed in one of the windows and tested the radio. When it worked, he put in a call for assistance, giving the location and naming himself as a random passerby. He was gone by the time police arrived on the scene, leaving no trace that he'd ever been save for the unconscious gang members strewn haphazardly about the street.

* * *

"_Last night, Nightwing reportedly assaulted two police officers. A group of teenage boys attempted to rescue the officers, and were severely beaten. Both officers are still unconscious and in the hospital, one is critically injured. As the violence done by Nightwing escalates, citizens are forced to ask 'what are the police doing about this threat?' and 'why haven't they taken it more seriously until now?',"_

From hero to villain almost overnight. Very well. So be it.


	15. Chapter 15 - Claim of Ownership

The dawn had brought with it not only further news of Nightwing, but also a rough Northern wind that pushed a storm on ahead of it. Ominous clouds rolled in, shuttled violently across the sky by a fierce icy wind that blasted through trees and wound its way through streets, as though seeking any source of warmth and attempting to obliterate it with frozen breath from above.

And too, the news latched onto more stories which were mere half-truths or out-and-out lies, further demonizing Nightwing over the course of the afternoon. They did this in much the same manner as when a dog is said to have attacked someone and then the media spends the entire day attempting to instill a terrible and undying fear of whatever flavor of "vicious dog breed" is the current favorite in the hearts and minds of their audience. It doesn't matter if the stories are true, or even if the deed was done by the breed in question, just so long as the reports are sensational and keep ratings high.

"Be afraid, be very afraid" should be the tag line of most major networks.

The Team, and Batman for that matter, knew this of course. But they knew also that there was almost always a grain of truth in the vast lie that made up the stories. They had no way of knowing that Nightwing had actually done nothing wrong save briefly lose his temper, which is a high crime in the world of superheroes, but one which no hero can claim to be innocent of.

Now the media aired with apparent glee all the things they had been downplaying up to now. The violence of Nightwing against the criminals he fought. They spoke eloquently and enthusiastically of the broken bones and hospital stays the various hoods endured. They cited that these were human beings, deserving humane treatment just like anyone else. "What if this were your son?" one interviewed young policemen asked.

Now the news broadcasts made light of the crime in Blüdhaven, and barely mentioned the victims at all. If ever there was a fickle entity in the world, it was the news. One minute they were idolizing you, the next they'd turned on you and uncovered every dirty secret you didn't have, airing your dirty laundry in the face of the general public, so to speak. Sometimes even someone else's laundry if they couldn't find yours.

Of course, throughout the day, there was no sign of Nightwing. Police searched in vain for traces of him, reporters went to every source they had, but nobody knew anything of Nightwing. They didn't know who he was, or where he made his lair. The hunt continued nevertheless, and now the police were settling in for the long haul. One mistake which was clearly not the vigilante's fault was not truly worth all the man power at their disposal. But now it seemed that Nightwing was going after their own, and getting more dangerous. They couldn't just wait for a chance at him, they needed to hunt him down.

Through it all, there was perhaps only one person in the world who refused to believe any of what he saw on the news. That person was Wally, who sat in the hotel room he'd rented, wondering where he should go from here. He heard the news broadcasts, and took them in with disbelief. Regardless of what might have changed in his friend, he refused to believe that he'd turned killer.

But he'd seen how easily the rest of the Team fell into doubt. It was the price one paid for being so secretive and unpredictable as Nightwing had always been. Wally had never had any doubts about his friend's loyalty or commitment to the mission, but he knew the others had.

He knew too that Batman's relationship to Nightwing had shifted somehow, that perhaps they'd even become enemies. He knew that someone would come after Nightwing. And, judging from their last encounter, Nightwing would kill whoever it was. Or be killed by them.

Somehow, he knew he had to stop that before it happened. But he had no better idea of where to look for Nightwing than anyone else. Still, come nightfall, he would be out, and he would be searching. Something told him that tonight was going to be a turning point, for better or for worse.

Somehow, everything would come down to a moment in the darkness. It would redefine everything. He had no special powers of precognition to tell him this, just that special sixth sense most heroes are gifted with, an almost supernatural awareness of impending events which would alter the course of their lives forever, almost as though fate were an angel on their shoulder whispering to them.

Nightwing had no knowledge of what had been said about him on the news, but he was fully aware of his new status as fugitive. He knew also that someone, hopefully not Kid Flash, would be coming to put a stop to his activities. Nightwing didn't know if he could convince them to leave him alone, but he no longer had any desire to fight, or to die.

He just wanted to be left alone. He needed time to sort himself out. He wasn't entirely sure what force had yanked him back from the brink, but he wasn't about to fly in the face of whatever it was that had done it. He was no fool in that. A second chance had been given him, and he wasn't going to return it.

Yet there was nothing he could think of to say or do that would prove to anyone that he realized that he'd crossed the line between darkness and evil, or that he had no intention of doing so again. No one he knew had any reason to believe anything he said. Not now.

What he didn't know, couldn't have even suspected, was that a ghost from his past was descending. Batman was coming to Blüdhaven.

* * *

_January 17__th__, 08:30 PM_

Snow had begun to fall around sunset, and had briefly worked itself into a real storm. Now there was only the wind and a few light flakes falling. But the streets were buried in deep snow, and the temperature was well below freezing.

The Team didn't allow that to bother them, nor did they permit it to hinder their progress. They had arrived via the bioship, but had then set out on foot in search of Nightwing. Batman knew, of course, that they would never find him if he didn't want them to.

They split up to cover more ground, sticking mostly to the darker and danker sections of Blüdhaven, rightly guessing that this was where Nightwing preferred to hang about. They had to take care not to be spotted by police cruisers and eager young reporters, all of whom were just as desperate to locate the elusive Nightwing as they were.

For once the criminal element of Blüdhaven was strangely silent. As if they had all collectively opened their doors, looked outside, taken in the heavy police and vigilante presence in their respective neighborhoods, and gone back inside to watch television until this whole thing blew over, in much the same way as someone might stay home if there was a blizzard.

Following his instincts, Batman eventually found himself on a flat rooftop near the docks. He didn't know, couldn't know, that he'd landed directly on the roof of Nightwing's lair. Nightwing couldn't have missed Batman's presence if he'd tried.

Whether he heard a noise, or saw the figure on his rooftop from a distance, Nightwing didn't know at first just who or what he was looking at, though whatever tipped him off struck a familiar chord with him. It wasn't until they were facing one another from opposite sides of the roof that either of them knew for certain who the other was.

"You!," a myriad emotions, a lifetime of anger and sorrow, fear and guilt, all wrapped into the single word, which then hung in the air as they stared at one another in silence.

The word was spoken by Nightwing, who then lost all ability to speak for several seconds as countless thoughts and ideas went swirling through his brain, trying to claw their way from his throat but none were able to because they all got in each other's way. Batman's reasons for silence were undoubtedly much the same. Disbelief, fury and fear all vied for top spot in Nightwing's emotions. But, above all, he felt a powerful and mystifying sense of relief. He couldn't understand it, or accept it, but he couldn't deny and ignore it, either.

"Interesting choice of costume," Batman said at last.

"I based it off of yours," Nightwing admitted quietly "but went for something slightly less theatrical and maybe a bit more practical,"

"How is Nightwing less theatrical?," Batman asked.

"I didn't call myself that," Nightwing replied, shrugging "the general public did. Blame them,"

They lapsed into uneasy silence. It surprised them both that they had not immediately descended into violence. Nightwing, of course, had no way of knowing that the fight in the train yard had freed Batman's will from the slug which had made him so deliriously angry. Nor could Batman understand why Nightwing didn't move to kill him at once, as he'd done in the aforementioned train yard. They both knew that Nightwing had tried to kill him, had moved with every intention of killing.

But even now, after everything, Nightwing was unable to entirely still the faint voice of hope, that told him it had to have all been a mistake, that there must have been a reason.

The air was alive with tension, they could feel it flowing like a current between them. Any wrong move and the fragile white flag which seemed to have been thrown up between them could be torn away by the wind. They both had things they wanted to say, but neither dared speak the words, lest they be taken the wrong way.

"I didn't attack those policemen," Nightwing said after a lengthy pause "or any of the other things the media is no doubt accusing me of,"

"I never said you did," Batman replied neutrally.

"So why are you here?," Nightwing asked, a flare of anger briefly lighting in his eyes, the same look an animal will give to another who has violated the borders of its territory.

"I needed to see for myself," Batman said.

"See what?. How badly I've messed up?," Nightwing spat.

"No," Batman told him "I needed to know you were alright,"

"That's not your call to make," Nightwing growled "You lost the right to judge me a long time ago,"

"I know," Batman replied "I just wanted to see how much damage I'd really done,"

"Enough," was the stoic reply "you've done enough,"

"I can see that,"

"So why don't you go home," it was hardly a suggestion, spoken more as a veiled threat than anything.

Heroes don't share their cities gladly most times. They guard their borders jealously against both criminal and vigilante alike. Which is why most cities have, at most, a hero and a sidekick or two. But Nightwing had never staked claim to any city, even as he'd graduated from being a sidekick. He preferred to put his efforts into the Team, which worked worldwide.

But something had clearly changed. Nightwing didn't have to say it to make it abundantly clear that Blüdhaven was his now, and anyone with any sense would leave him to it. And Batman was nothing if not sensible. He turned to go, and Nightwing watched him intently, as though suspecting it would take more than that to drive his former mentor away.

Of course, they both knew that there was no force which could be used to make Batman go. That he was going quietly was his own choice. There was no need to save face or defend pride, and he had no desire to prove his superiority over his son. He might have gone away entirely had someone not interfered just then.

Kid Flash had gone in search of Nightwing. Seeing both Nightwing and Batman on the roof together, Batman with his back to Nightwing, brought a memory of what Kid Flash had been told about why Batman couldn't go in search of Nightwing.

Without thinking, he went on the offensive, his one thought being to prevent Nightwing from doing something he would later regret. He ran at Nightwing and struck the latter heavily with his right shoulder. Nightwing slid sideways with the impact.

In a flash, Batman had flown to his defense. In the dark, not one of the three had a good view of what was actually happening, nor did they have time to think about it. Each reacted fully on his instincts. Kid Flash had sprang to Nightwing's defense, but so did Batman. The third party to act, Nightwing, did something far more bizarre than what the first two had.

The attack on his person when his attention had been so taken by the presence of Batman had rattled him. Seeing the black cape of his former mentor fluttering so close to him brought on a powerful flashback which swept Nightwing up in its vicious current. Rather than attack the one who had assaulted him, his clouded mind bade him turn on his protector. Had he been in his right mind, he would have known that Batman hadn't attacked him at all.

But, like the others, he reacted on purest instinct. And it had been more than beaten into him that the cape and cowl was to be hated and feared above all else. Whether it was fury or fear which spurred him into action, Nightwing would later be unable to decide.

Either way, he lunged at Batman, using his own weight to throw his adversary sideways, before falling upon him. He didn't draw a weapon, either because he hadn't the time to do so or because some part of his violently resisted a replay of what had happened in the train yard, he didn't know.

Kid Flash, dazed and breathless, staggered upright and realized that Batman and Nightwing were grappling a short distance away. He stepped in again, bodily knocking Nightwing to the side. In doing so, he left himself open for another assault by Batman. Snow flew in all directions as the three alternately attacked and defended, practically blind.

In movies, fights are often portrayed as slow, dance-like affairs, where the combatants frequently back up to size one another up. But there was none of that here. This was a fight which bordered on madness, and there was certainly nothing artful or elegant in it.

But in this next round, as Batman once again moved to Nightwing's defense, something vaguely resembling sanity entered the latter's brain. His subconscious began to process, even as his conscious mind thought only to rid himself of his tormentor once and for all.

When next Batman and Nightwing went head to head, the subconscious and quite sane part of Nightwing's brain told him that Batman was doing nothing to fight back, barely even anything to defend himself. Even as Nightwing drove him onto his back, Batman did nothing against him. Kid Flash regained his feet, but this time he didn't need to intervene.

Even as he moved to stop Nightwing, Nightwing himself sprang away. Kid Flash barreled into empty air where Nightwing had formerly been, and nearly ran himself off the rooftop, catching himself just in time. He turned and found Batman still on the ground, Nightwing standing several feet away.

All three were panting, their breath coming out in great white plumes. But only Nightwing was shaking. He trembled, and there were not enough words in the world to describe what he felt.

His dark eyes were locked with Batman's, and Kid Flash could almost feel some kind of communication passing between them even as no words were spoken. Something was happening, but Kid Flash didn't know enough to fully understand what it was.

At last, without any hesitancy in his movements, Batman got to his feet. He moved without any apparent wariness. In the silent exchange, there had clearly been something that lifted the mood of battle from Nightwing's mind. Batman dusted himself off, taking his time and doing so in silence. Nightwing observed dispassionately, while Kid Flash stood tense and uncertain to one side.

Not knowing what had set Nightwing against Batman meant he could hardly tell if the issue had been resolved, or if indeed it was possible to resolve at all. It all seemed so random and senseless and confusing to Kid Flash, but whatever it was, it was extremely unnervingly real.

"If you ever want to come back," Batman said slowly, with apparent heaviness of the heart "my door is always open to you. Until then...," he trailed off.

Phrases like "good luck" and "take care of yourself" were more alien to him than any foreign language, and they would go unappreciated by Nightwing for the same reasons. They were words which held no meaning for either of them, so it was pointless to say them. Nightwing dipped his head in acknowledgment, the motion so slight that Kid Flash almost didn't notice it.

Having crossed to the fire escape of the building, Batman looked over his shoulder at Kid Flash.

"Are you coming?,"

Kid Flash looked from Batman to Nightwing uncertainly, but then followed the former, knowing somehow that there was nothing more he could do for the latter save leave him in peace to work out whatever chaos seemed to be in his mind.


	16. Chapter 16 - Turning Point

Before they left Blüdhaven or even met up with the Team, Kid Flash parted ways with Batman. It suddenly seemed to him that everything might not be so simple as it seemed to be. Whatever went on in the minds of The Bats, they were still human, and bound to behave as such in at least some small way. Perhaps his presence would make no difference, but Kid Flash could not simply leave just because everything looked alright on the surface.

Not this time.

He made his way back to the docks, somehow knowing that he would find Nightwing there still. Or maybe he just hoped so. When he reached the roof, there was no sign of Nightwing save for the snow which had been churned up in the brief scuffle. But Kid Flash wasn't easily discouraged.

He had long known the secret of Nightwing's disappearing act. Just because he couldn't see him, it didn't mean Nightwing had gone far. In fact, chances were good that Nightwing was quite close by. The sight of a police cruiser coming up the street made Kid Flash duck down out of sight. They weren't after him, of course, but they'd probably be just as happy to chase Kid Flash as Nightwing.

Once the car passed out of sight, Kid Flash climbed down off the roof and began to look around. He found one of the windows of the building unsecured and saw that the snow which gathered on the sill had been all but brushed off. He pushed his way in, and closed the window behind him.

What happened in that dark and empty place he would never speak of, and wouldn't have believed if it had been someone who told him. If he'd been anyone else, he probably wouldn't have seen. Nightwing was always in possession of his personal feelings, ever confident and with a quip ready for each occasion. His pride would have made him hide from anyone save perhaps this one friend.

As it was, it seemed as though Nightwing were completely ignorant of Kid Flash's presence. Indeed, he might have been so preoccupied by his own internal turmoil that he was oblivious of everything around him. Far more likely was that he hadn't the will to avoid his friend, nor the heart to look him in the eye.

Nightwing was sitting on the floor, his head in his hands, rocking slightly in the way that unhappy children are wont to do but that adults seldom consider. At a closer glance, Kid Flash could see him shaking terribly, as though he were cold. The small choked sobs which came from him seemed out of character, and did not befit the hero Kid Flash had come to know as his friend at all.

There are many words which could be used to describe the scene, from pathetic to tragic, but Kid Flash could think of only one which seemed to apply to Nightwing at this particular moment: vulnerable.

It was a word that made his heart break for his friend. It was the single thing which no hero could ever afford to be, a condition which almost invariably proved terminal. Kid Flash knelt down beside Nightwing, but had no words to say. Neither did Nightwing acknowledge him. They sat thus for a long, long time, close enough almost to hear one another's heart beating, but not touching or speaking.

At long last, Nightwing's shaking eased and he looked up. Not at Kid Flash, but sort of past him, unseeing at the distant wall. He took a deep breath and, when he spoke, his voice was steady but low.

"I wanted to kill him,"

This didn't come as a surprise to Kid Flash. He already knew, of course. He didn't understand why, but felt that now was not the time to ask, nor even the time for him to speak. So he sat still and silent and waited for Nightwing to go on.

"I thought I had. That I could just get on, pretend nothing ever happened. But that's never how it is, is it?," he didn't wait for an answer before going on "Everything circles back in the end, the past comes back even as the future arrives for the first time,"

He paused to take a shaky breath and shifted his gaze, though his eyes still seemed unfocused. Then, at length, he went on.

"He's alive, and I'm glad. Damn me to Hell, but I'm happy about it," he shook his head "I can't go back, but I have to. If I don't... I'll be afraid forever,"

Kid Flash wasn't sure he was entirely following this one sided conversation, but sensed that his comprehension was unnecessary. That he was there was enough. Nightwing suddenly broke off and, blinking, looked at Kid Flash for the first time.

"I thought you'd gone," he said quietly "that you were done with this,"

"With the life," Kid Flash replied slowly "but just because I'm through trying to save the world doesn't mean I've stopped caring what happens to my friends,"

Nightwing laughed, a humorless laugh that bewildered Kid Flash, but not so much as what he said next.

"But I have," Nightwing told him, shaking his head "just like I said," suddenly he was more serious again "but I'm done with that too. I've had my tantrum, and now I need to get back on track,"

"On track?," Kid Flash raised an eyebrow.

"Robin may be dead, but Nightwing isn't," he explained, though that didn't clear up anything at all for Kid Flash "I won't be able to do it all at once, but... eventually... I'll have to go back to Gotham,"

Strangely, though it was Kid Flash who felt as though he were in the dark, it was Nightwing who lacked a seemingly critical piece of information. He had no idea why Batman had acted as he had then, or what had changed now. He knew nothing of the slug, though it was he who'd killed it. All he knew was that he would have to face his former mentor, on his own turf. Then, and only then, would he be able to put to rest the myriad emotions that threatened to overwhelm and consume him.

It would be different this time, he knew. For the tie which had once prevented him from attacking his father had been broken, now and forever. He was no longer helpless. Once he regained fully his former confidence, he would go back, and he would end it.

He had no idea how that would play out. Whether Batman would simply let him go as he had tonight, or whether they would have a fight to the death over it. But it didn't matter which way it happened. Nightwing would face it. When he was ready, he would go home. He was through running.

"Wally, you've already done more than you have to. But could I ask one more thing of you?,"

"Sure," Kid Flash said without hesitation "what?,"

"Stay," was the soft reply "not forever. Just... just until... until...," for once, Nightwing was stammering, unable to say what he wanted to.

"Don't," Kid Flash couldn't prevent himself from smiling slightly at the absurdity of Nightwing being at a loss for words "I know what you mean. I'll hang around until you get yourself back together,"

"Thank you,"

Those two words meant far more coming from Nightwing than perhaps any other person on the planet except maybe Batman. There were two things which didn't come easy to Nightwing. Apologies and expressed gratitude. Though Batman knew much, and was a truly exceptional teacher, those two concepts were as alien to him as Superman was to Earth.

* * *

_January 18__th_

"Yo, Ricky, who's your friend?," Jack's question was loud enough to be heard over the machinery.

Grant looked up from his work to see that Rick was, indeed, being accompanied by a boy a few years older than himself. The older boy had a few freckles and a tussle of red hair.

"Name's Wally," the new-comer replied.

"What brings you here?," Grant asked as he walked over to the two boys so they could hear one another better over the sound of the work crew.

"Looking' for work," Wally said, shrugging casually "my friend says you might be able to use another hand. Can you?,"

Grant raised both eyebrows. He hadn't reckoned on providing jobs for the world's runaways. But it was true that Rick was a good worker and, if his friend were half so reliable, he'd be worth his weight in gold. It wouldn't be smart to turn him down.

"You know construction?," Grant asked.

"I'm a quick study," Wally replied modestly.

Grant bit his lower lip, and then turned to Rick, doing his best to look stern. But it was hard to do with Rick, who he'd come to like quite well. Aside from which, there was a difference in the boy from when they'd last met. For once, he didn't hesitate to meet Grant's gaze, nor did he look away after awhile. The sharp indigo gaze was actually rather intimidating.

"You vouch for this kid?," Grant asked.

"He's my best friend. If that's good enough for you, then yes," came the retort which seemed halfway between amused and aggressive.

"Alright, but he better not cause me any grief," Grant sighed "come on... Wally, was it?. I'll fill you in on the rules you'll be following if you want to work here. Ricky, go find Marlow, he could use a hand,"

Rick and Wally exchanged glances, but Grant couldn't guess what they were thinking, nor did he want to try. But he couldn't have missed the connection between the two if he'd wanted to. Rick, who barely ever spoke, said everything in the way of his expression and body language. And everything about him said that this boy was different from Grant and the rest of the crew, who Rick had begun to warm up to. This was a friend whom he trusted, perhaps beyond Grant's ability to comprehend.

That put Grant's mind somewhat more at ease in a way, knowing that Rick wasn't just vouching for any druggy runaway who happened to traipse his way. Except for the fact that they looked nothing alike, Grant might have guessed they were brothers.

After Wally signed on, Grant asked a question which had been bugging him for quite awhile. He didn't normally have much of an interest in his employees, nor was he typically nosy. But something about Rick's situation had been bothering him since he'd first met the kid.

"So how do you and Ricky know one another?,"

Wally blinked, a moment of confusion clouding his features. Then his expression cleared and he shrugged casually.

"We travel in the same circles. We've worked together quite a bit in the past,"

"Know anything about where he came from?," Grant pressed hopefully.

"Nothing I'm willing to share," Wally replied truthfully.

Grant wouldn't even have gotten that much out of him had not Nightwing, earlier in the morning, informed him of where he'd been working and what his opinion of the people there was.

"So you don't know if he has any folks who'll come lookin' for him?," Grant asked.

"What's it to you?," Wally countered evasively.

"Probably less than it is to you," Grant admitted "you being his friend and all. But even I can see he's been abused, and quite badly at that. I don't want any trouble, but if there's to be any I'd like to know about it beforehand,"

"His father won't come after him," Wally said "and neither will anybody else. Can I get to work now?,"

"Hmm?. Oh sure. Ricky can show you the ropes if he's through helping Marlow. If not, get Jack to give you a hand. Ricky can at least point him out to you,"

* * *

"That employer of yours is awfully interested in your past," Kid Flash said that evening as he and Nightwing set out to patrol the city together.

He didn't add why Grant was so interested. That part concerned him somewhat. Taking the builder's observation into account made Nightwing's behavior seem much less random and unpredictable. But it was hard to believe that Batman's treatment, no matter how harsh, ever amounted to true abuse. Aside from which, it would take more than a few insults or beatings to turn Nightwing as vicious as he had so recently been acting.

"He's a good man," Nightwing returned "unfortunately, that may mean he'll start digging and find that Rick looks an awful lot like Dick Grayson,"

"Think he'll make trouble for Wayne?,"

"Not my problem," was the curt reply.

* * *

_January 21__st__, 10:37 PM_

The weather had been mild the past few days, and the nights had settled into a comfortable (if not entirely peaceable) routine. Though for the most part Nightwing was a ferocious and incorrigible vigilante, there were times when he would suddenly leave off the criminal hunting and ramble to some insignificant part of the city whereupon he would settle into a mood of silent melancholy.

Kid Flash let him go where he would, usually following but sometimes getting the sense that Nightwing would prefer to be alone. Though Kid Flash missed Artemis terribly and wanted nothing more than to go back to the life he'd left, he was not altogether unhappy.

There was something wildly satisfying about taking down petty criminals, putting a stop to attempted muggings and robberies, sometimes as many as twenty or so in a night. But what he found he liked the best was the day time, when he and Nightwing went to work on the building which was now so nearly completed. He found that he had a taste for building things, and discovered he enjoyed his friend's company just as much without the mask as with it.

Tonight, Nightwing had led the way to what seemed like the last tall building in the city before it began to sprawl away into increasingly wild countryside. Even without knowing which way he was facing on a compass, Kid Flash would have known they were turned towards Gotham.

The way Nightwing looked out past the city at the dark skyline beyond gave it away. In his eyes there flickered the fires of patient memory and it seemed to Kid Flash that he might know all the secrets of Nightwing's life if only he could read the story told by those dark eyes. But he couldn't. He was no mind reader, nor was he Batman, and that thoroughly disqualified him from ever fully understanding what was going on in Nightwing's head just by looking at him.

But he could see plainly the struggle his friend was going through, even if he couldn't understand it. And he knew the only way he could help was to be there. He sort of wondered why him and not someone else. Aqualad with his infinite patience, Miss Martian whose compassion for others seemed boundless, or... well... anyone else.

Then again, Nightwing himself had said it. Kid Flash was his best friend.

"Is it time?," Kid Flash asked after an interminably long silence.

Nightwing's gaze fell from the sky to the earth below, which was all the answer he gave. It wasn't exactly a confirmation or a denial. After several minutes, he turned away towards the city. No. It wasn't time yet, but soon. Very soon. Of that there could be no doubt.

* * *

Cole regained his consciousness slowly, bit by bit. It started with a dull ache in his head, which seemed to spread dimly through the rest of his body. He was alive. That itself seemed like a miracle to him. He remembered vaguely following Nightwing, and then the crash, the advancing assailants and... his brain faltered as it tried to reconcile its opinion of Nightwing with what his eyes told it that he had seen that night. He eventually gave up and fell back into darkness.

But now it was sleep. He had no idea that Nightwing was presently being hunted down in his name. Perhaps if he had known, he might have resisted sleep. Then again, perhaps not. For nothing does a human resist more in this world than admitting they were wrong.

Yet even in his drug addled state, Cole knew he hadn't seen the last of Nightwing.


	17. Chapter 17 - Reconciliation

_January 23__rd_

Cole was released from the hospital, though it was given to the hospital staff to understand that he had someone at home who would keep an eye on him. This was a straight up lie, and the cab Cole hailed that evening didn't take him home, but to the scene of the attack. In fairness to the cabbie, he knew nothing of who Cole was or even where he was going.

Cole paid the fair and got out, ignoring the cab as it sped away. The cabbie was no fool, and knew better than to hang around a neighborhood as violent as this one. He couldn't imagine what Cole planned to do there, nor did he want to know.

In truth, Cole wasn't sure what he was looking for. In part, he felt like going back to this place might make his memories that much clearer, that he might finally be satisfied by what his memory kept telling him or, and he hoped this fervently, it would clear and tell him the story the media had presented to him on television every day since he'd woken up.

But, of course, this didn't happen. Though he looked right and left, he got no conflicting images in his head. He tried desperately to play it in his head that Nightwing had been helping the gang, or that he had been the one in the truck which had rammed the police cruiser. More than anything, Cole wanted confirmation of that which he had so firmly held as true, had believed for years.

Vigilantes were a dangerous menace to society, just as inclined to attack the innocent as the guilty. But not only was Cole still very much alive, so too were all the members of the gang. Not only that, but they had been injured only minimally, which did include a few broken bones, yes, but nothing of the kind of damage Cole had been seeing Nightwing leave in his wake.

"Scares you, doesn't it?,"

Cole whirled to face the direction of the voice. Nightwing was there, leaning casually against the wall of a building, arms crossed in front of him. He continued speaking, his voice caught between serene and jeering.

"Realizing you're not the one with the power. That there are things beyond your control. Beyond your understanding,"

"What?. Like you?," Cole snapped "I'll get my hands on you soon enough,"

"No," Nightwing's voice sounded almost gentle, and he smiled in a way that seemed more kind than anything "you never will. But you don't want to anyway. Not anymore. Not now that you know the truth,"

"What truth might that be?,"

"You were wrong,"

"What happened here doesn't prove a thing," Cole said fiercely.

But Nightwing knew as well as Cole that no one defends their argument more ferociously than someone who is wrong and knows it, but is unwilling to admit, even to himself, that he is in error.

"It wasn't meant to," Nightwing replied neutrally "And, in all fairness, you weren't entirely wrong. I was out of control. People got hurt because I let my emotions get the better of me,"

"Oh but you're all better now?," Cole scoffed "look at you, wearing black pajamas made of Kevlar and a mask fit for Halloween,"

"Says the man with the head injury who decided to go to the place of his assault, knowing full well that the people who attacked him are still running loose," Nightwing returned evenly.

"What do you want?," Cole asked irritably "an apology?. A thank you?. Some fairytale ending to this exchange that would fit nicely on a greeting card?,"

"There are no fairytale endings," Nightwing told him "The world is a dark, violent, cruel place. A place where even the most trusted friends can turn on you at a moment's notice,"

"So what else is new?," Cole asked.

"I can't make the world a perfect place. I know that. There will always be more evil, more greed, more envy and murderous rage. In spite of what people will tell you, the world will always have its shadows, products of both light and dark. I am one such shadow, born in darkness but trying to make this place just a little bit less like the Hell I've come from,"

"Cute, did you practice that?,"

"Thought it up on the spot," Nightwing said coolly, smiling again.

"So why are you telling me all this?," Cole asked.

"It's what you came to hear, isn't it?. The truth?," Nightwing asked.

Cole refused to answer his question, instead asking another of his own.

"Why are you here at all?,"

"I came to speak with you," Nightwing answered cooperatively "because you were the only one who saw what I had become. The only person who didn't look through rose-colored glasses. Your judgment was sound, and you weren't afraid to say what you thought. You pursued me without orders, because you wanted to protect this city. You and I will be speaking again,"

At these words, Nightwing faded back into the shadows. Cole ran to where he had been, but there was no trace the vigilante had ever even been there, not even boot marks in the snow. Cole would later wonder if he'd hallucinated the whole conversation, but he had no doubt about its validity.

He and Nightwing were playing for the same team. And, like it or not, there was nothing Cole could do to get rid of the black bird. And so they might as well begin working together. Starting with Cole's telling the truth about what really happened on this street corner.

There was a gang of boys who needed to be arrested for assault on a police officer. And it was high time the police force stopped focusing on Nightwing and went back to hunting the true threats to Blüdhaven's security. Nightwing might not be any angel, but he was no demon either.

* * *

In that same night, Kid Flash began his own journey home. He didn't exchange words with Nightwing, but simply knew that his presence was no longer required. Nightwing had someone else who'd keep him in line now, someone who would overlook nothing. Where Kid Flash might choose to ignore a slip up on Nightwing's part because they were friends, Cole was sure to nail him to the wall.

And so Kid Flash returned home, and put away his mask. He thought for good. And he was glad to be rid of it at last. Gladder still to see that Nightwing no longer needed someone to lean on. He did not require anyone's sympathy or understanding anymore. He'd grown to be as strong as before. Or maybe, just maybe, even stronger.

Like his father, Nightwing owned the night once again.

At least in Blüdhaven.

* * *

_January 24__th_

"_In local news, police are still searching for the teens who attempted to murder two of Blüdhaven's own boys in blue last week. Both officers were badly wounded in the attack, but are said to be recovering nicely. One has been released from the hospital and had this to say about the attack: 'If not for Nightwing, we would both be dead. I owe him my life. Society may hate him, but I no longer can'. Does this mean police have called off the search for the vigilante known as Nightwing?. Not at all. But, though Nightwing has been very active of late, no one has managed to track him down,"_

So said the news woman the next day.

It was something of a lie, but not hers. The lie belonged to the police commissioner, who had issued the statement that police were still out in force looking for Nightwing. Though officers had orders to bring the vigilante in if they found him, nobody had much interest in looking.

However, they looked for the cop killers with greatest zeal. And it wasn't long before they found them, courtesy of Nightwing, who had located the hideout and left the gang in a pile in the middle of their lair for the police to find.

All over Blüdhaven, stories of Nightwing came flooding in. With his name cleared, the stories had abruptly become almost wholly positive, though no less exaggerated than before. Many were still flat-out lies. Public opinion had a way of turning on a dime as people went with whatever trend happened to blow by. First love, then fear, then hate, then back to love again.

* * *

"The general public's got the brains of a gnat," Grant commented during the lunch break when the conversation inevitably turned towards the vigilante who was, at least, slightly more interesting than the weather or sports "and the loyalty of a coyote,"

"While we're on the subject of animals," Jack said "they've got the blind stubbornness of an ass,"

"I don't think that's an animal," Dennison objected.

"No, I mean a literal ass," Jack told him "you know, donkey?. Burro?,"

"You mean onager or kiang," Rick corrected him quietly "though I expect the word you were looking for was 'mule',"

"What are you?. Some sort of animal expert?,"

"No, I just figured you wanted to be accurate,"

"Whatever," Jack snorted "anyway, the general public's a wild ass, a stubborn nuisance that's too nosy for its own damn good. Ought to just leave things like Nightwing alone,"

"Why?," Dennison asked.

"Because vigilantes are like religion and politics. People feel strong enough about 'em one way or another to come to blows over it," Jack shrugged dismissively "besides, it's not like we could do anything about him, no matter how we feel. If the police can't catch him and the media can't even get a picture of him, what the hell does it matter if we think he's a rabbit or a velociraptor?,"

"Gossip makes the world go 'round," Rick said passively.

"I thought that was money," Dennison commented "it's certainly the only thing that gets me off my ass and puts me to work,"

"Well obviously not," Jack put in "after all, nobody's paying Nightwing. Are they?,"

"Why not?," Grant asked "what makes you think it's not a job like any other?. Maybe some nut in Florida is paying him to caper around up here, catching outlaws and making the news?,"

"Or maybe a film studio," Rick joked "I hear someone wants to make a movie about him,"

"Weirder things have happened," Grant said agreeably.

"Yeah, like some idiot going out risking life and limb without any thought for reward," Dennison laughed "ain't nobody that bored of life who hasn't already committed suicide,"

Rick seemed to find this enormously funny, though he covered his mouth and made a show of coughing. Everyone could see he found Dennison's comment hysterical for some reason or the other, though none of them came even close to guessing why.

* * *

That night, as he sat on the roof of what had become his home, Nightwing remembered the earlier conversation and couldn't help but laugh again.

Poor Dennison would probably never know the truth. That hundreds, if not thousands, of heroes lived on Earth, daily risking their lives in order to preserve the place they called home. No one would ever be able to explain to the man that these heroes acted under no illusions about making the world a perfect place. But what beauty there was they protected jealously.

For even the darkest of heroes knew and could see the good that was in the world, though some days it was harder to see than others. It was this which they fought for tooth and nail, giving their blood and even their lives in an endless struggle against the dark. It was only those who lost sight of the good who gave up and allowed themselves to die.

Each had his own reasons, his own story, his own hurts and anger, his own regrets and enemies. But all were driven by something that they loved, even if it had been a family which was now dead and buried, to do what they could to save whatever was still worth fighting for.

It was this which Nightwing had forgotten in the dark, and which he now at last remembered.

The reason why.

For this reason, and this reason alone, he calmly donned the mask and costume every night, why he fought with everything he had, and refused to cross the line into true evil, staying a mere shadow in the dark. It was for this reason that he meekly submitted himself to the torture of being alone even in a crowd, of building a wall between himself and the rest of the world, knowing full well the lonely and grief laden road which would be his on doing so, painfully aware of the rest of the world's sweetly oblivious state, yet unable to partake of that willful blindness which would give him peace.

Some days he believed in God. Other days he wasn't so sure. But he knew well that there was something beyond himself, which called him to be what he was, and which would never release him from his willing and humble servitude until death laid claim to his soul.

Having reawakened to this fact, Nightwing knew that it was time for him to return to Gotham, to face that which he most feared, trusting that everything would play out exactly as it was meant to, whether he liked to call it luck or fate or the hand of God, it didn't matter.

As he had told Cole, it was frightening to realized there were things in the world which lacked explanations, which could not be controlled. But, unlike most of the rest of the world, Nightwing had always been one to accept proof when he saw it, instead of claiming something could not exist or be that way merely because he lacked the information necessary to fully explain it.

He didn't know if he would be able to return to Blüdhaven. He hoped so, because it had become his home. But he did know that he must go to Gotham, and that now was the time.

* * *

_January 25__th_

Nightwing returned to Gotham in much the same way he'd left, by train. But this time he was not acting on desperate instinct, nor were his movements dictated by crippling fear. It was with calm acceptance that he slipped onto the train at night, and quiet resignation that he departed when it arrived in Gotham.

He did not go to the batcave, for the sun had already gone down and he knew that he would not find Batman there. Aside from which, he didn't feel quite up to coming so close to the place which had come to be the subject of his darkest dreams.

On arriving, years of habit turned him towards the South. The patrol route was not fixed, but there was a certain pattern to it that Nightwing had learned by heart. Even if he had been gone for years, he could have predicted exactly where Batman would be, providing that there were no hang ups and that he was not specially occupied with a certain case. And, of course, assuming Gotham had not grown larger or developed new and different trouble spots.

Traveling this familiar route, visiting old haunts, brought forth a flood of memories which, somewhat surprisingly, were not altogether unpleasant. In spite of the relative darkness which was hung about his way of life like a shroud, Nightwing truly loved what he did. Perhaps in much the same way that a dog continues to love the master who cruelly beats him simply because his heart knows no other way to feel about said master.

Even given what had happened, Nightwing, dog-like, could not find it in himself to think of Batman with bitterness in the truest sense. Even in his moments of sheer terror and passionate loathing, there was still a part of him that continued to doggedly adore and respect his adoptive father.

And now his mind did what it often had in the past. It remembered the good, viewing the bad through a frosted window pane of indifference. It was how you had to survive. For Nightwing could not simply forget bad memories, they were as much a part of him as his very heart. But neither could he afford to dwell on those negative thoughts lest he lose his soul to them.

Years of memories could not be dashed to pieces by a bare few months of suffering, no matter what any psychiatrist will try to tell you about ruining the trust between two people. Trust which is so easily destroyed is not real trust at all. It is the surface trust that gets built up from scheduled trust falls and routine working together in a casual sort of way.

True trust is built in the heat of the moment, when one person steps to protect another, often at risk to themselves. Trust is built from one person offering wise counsel to the other, the snap of a wire sending one plunging to their death to be caught at the last second by the other. It is built from shared goals and a deep understanding of what makes each other tick. From one wanting to run and the other saying "Stand your ground". Of getting out of tight spot after tight spot, relying on one another for support. Taking a huge risk, secure in the knowledge that your partner will be there when you need them, if not always when you want them. When it comes down to the wire and the stakes are at their highest, it is those who remain which earn the title of "trusted friend".

Nightwing had thought that even that trust had been destroyed by what had happened. But standing on these old familiar rooftops, traveling these shadowy streets he knew as well as his own name told him otherwise. He'd expected to be dreading the moment where he finally stood face-to-face with Batman, had worried and fretted over whether his new-found confidence might fail him, that he might shatter to pieces and lose himself all over again. But such was not the case.

Eventually he found himself on the street where the MinaTech building had been. The building remained, but under a new title. Nightwing wondered if Batman had done away with MinaTech, or if perhaps they had been discovered by the authorities. Or perhaps they had merely leaped to a new location to continue whatever their foul experiments were.

It didn't greatly concern him. Perhaps it might have, had he known what the future would hold. But he had no premonitions about what would happen years from now, and so continued on his patrol, placidly confident in the knowledge that he would sooner or later catch up with his former mentor.

Nightwing finally located Batman crouching on a rooftop like a gargoyle. Batman gave Nightwing's arrival the barest of glances, then he resumed looking down on the city. Nightwing shifted into the well-worn position which he had grown accustomed to over the years.

When Batman moved on, so too did Nightwing, following in a casual sort of way. To revisit the dog metaphor yet again, he moved like a dog following his master without aide of leash or command, but instead simply because that is what he wishes to do.

The Bats had never been much for words, nor were they inclined to start speechifying now. There was still a tension between them, which shouldn't be there, but they weren't going to speak of it. Batman was not going to attempt to excuse his actions, nor was Nightwing inclined to demand an explanation.

In their quiet way, they began to work out where they stood with one another. Neither approached within fifteen feet of the other, as if on silent agreement that such proximity would be offensive in some bizarre way only the Bats could understand.

When they took down thugs, no words passed between them, nor did either try to give the other any sort of instruction or advice. Where formerly Batman might have told Nightwing which thug to go after, he did nothing of the kind now. Nightwing merely followed his lead, taking up whichever hoodlum was left to him.

At the end of the night, Batman turned towards Wayne Manor. Nightwing hung back, for the first time reluctant to follow the other's lead. Batman didn't say anything on the matter. But he did stop and look back a time or two, then finally decided Nightwing was simply not coming and went by himself.

Only when he was fully beyond sight did Nightwing deign to follow, albeit slowly. This was the part he dreaded most. Of all the places in the world, this was the one he did not want to go. But it was what he'd come to do, and so there he must go. It wasn't going to get any easier.

The closer he got, the slower he went. He kept stopping to look around, or wandering off course to investigate a noise or movement which was almost entirely made of his imagination. He ranged in a wide circle about the entrance to the batcave, making his way almost up to the gate at Wayne Manor before turning sharply back towards the batcave entrance, only to turn and wander up the street for awhile. He paced back and forth, getting closer each time, knowing that once he was inside there would be no turning back, yet knowing just the same that nothing inside would force him to stay.

That strange sixth sense of the superhero told him that Batman was no more a threat to him than any of his allies. Whatever had caused his behavior before, it was gone now. The danger had long since passed out of existence.

At last, Nightwing stood quietly at the entrance to the batcave, gazing impassively into its infinite darkness. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and stepped inside.

Out the end of the long tunnel and into the heart of the cave itself, without hesitation or pause, until he came to stand near the computer Batman used. Batman was sitting in front of it as though he hadn't expected to be followed, but there was no surprise in his eyes when he looked up and acknowledged Nightwing's presence. He looked at his son, and then returned his gaze to the computer. But they both knew that each was focused entirely upon the other.

At length, it was Batman who spoke, though not of anything between them.

"In case you're wondering, MinaTech was under investigation when it sold all its research to a shell company and then folded. I haven't been able to find who they sold out to. But I'm sure they'll be back, in one form or another," Batman said.

"We'll be waiting for them," Nightwing replied evenly.

His choice of words held great significance. It was difficult to tell if Nightwing was speaking of his association with Batman or the Team when he said 'we', but it was a welcome sign to Batman that his one-time protege was returning to his former self, or as nearly so as was possible.

"Alfred's back," Batman ventured after another interminably long silence "I expect he would like to see you before you go back to Blüdhaven,"

"Who said I'm going back?," Nightwing asked, but there was no challenge in his tone.

"Aren't you?,"

"You gonna make me?,"

"No,"

They fell once again into a void in conversation. This time, it was Nightwing who broke the silence.

"Looks like you'll have a scar on your neck, at least for awhile," Nightwing commented.

It was as close to speaking of past events as either of them had come, and it took quite awhile for Batman to respond, perhaps because he wasn't quite sure how to go about it.

"Better than the alternative," he said finally.

Nightwing nodded, but said nothing to this.

"And even that would have been preferable to continuing on my set course," Batman continued.

He had to know that Nightwing was wholly unaware of the part the slug had played in their drama, yet he did not speak of it. He was unwilling to use the slug as an excuse, and refused to encourage Nightwing to trust him again on the basis that he hadn't been in control of himself at the time.

For what had happened between them there could be no excuse.

Batman looked up from his chair yet again. Nightwing hadn't moved, standing stiffly as though he might bolt at any moment, looking as if it were taking monumental effort just to remain in a fixed position. Yet his voice betrayed none of that.

"I'd like to stay for a little while before going back, if that's alright with you,"

"I told you that the doors to Wayne Manor were always open to you, and I meant it," Batman returned mildly, inwardly surprised that Nightwing should choose to stay at all.

And Nightwing did stay for a few days. Yet, had nothing happened to change things, he would have made no further progress than to say that he'd braved the darkness and returned unscathed.

As it was, something did happen to change things between Batman and Nightwing, to restore the loyalty and faith that had once been such a part of their relationship. Perhaps it was fate, or destiny, or luck, or maybe the hand of God. Whatever it was, it made all the difference in the world.


	18. Chapter 18 - Black Death

Where the man who called himself 'Black Death' had come from, no one could say. But he was a blight upon the land unlike any other, for his one goal in life seemed to be to end as many lives as was humanly possible, with no care for who his targets might be. He'd been around since before Nightwing's return to Gotham, but it took time to build a reputation and he seemed exceptionally talented at evading Batman's thorough patrols.

Nobody knew his face or voice, the only reason anybody knew him by name was because he painted it in the blood of his victims on the ground or on the wall of a nearby building. There was little consistency to his manner of slaying, he seemed equally content to slash the jugular with a knife as he was to choke someone to death and then gut them to get at the blood.

Coming on the scenes of slaughter, Batman and Nightwing were at first shocked, then merely disturbed by their chaotic message of senseless violence. But though they looked quietly upon these scenes and pursued leads in their hunt for Black Death with calm deliberation, it was clear that they felt very different about the man.

For whatever reason, it was plain in Nightwing's eyes that he harbored an immediate, intense and deep loathing for Black Death. Disgusting as the man's habits were, Batman held none of the passionate and unreasoning hatred which so clearly existed inside Nightwing. He was of the sort that regarded his enemies with refined detachment. Then again, Nightwing had always been the more high-strung of the two. The only difference was what purpose he put those energies to.

The ever cheerful and perpetually optimistic Robin was most assuredly dead. In his place was something else, which wasn't entirely a bad thing. Realism had taken over for optimism, and in the place of a cheery demeanor had come an intensely sober and self-contained work ethic.

For though fury flashed in his eyes, Nightwing did not permit his emotions to get the better of him. He did not burst into outraged rhetoric nor did he take his anger out on training dummies. It was quietly contained and controlled, for he had learned mastery of himself and his emotions long before. Emotions out of hand were as lethal as a bullet to the head.

* * *

_January 30__th__, 11:00 PM_

The first time Batman and Nightwing came across Black Death was almost purely by accident, as he had already slain his victim and was in the process of painting his name grotesquely on the pavement. It was actually the overwhelming smell of blood, brought to them by the wind, that led Batman and Nightwing down from the rooftops and into the alley.

They each took an end, surrounding their foe before even laying eyes on him. As they closed in, they took in the appearance of Black Death for the first time.

He stood a full head taller than Batman, and was easily twice as heavy, all of it in muscle. But he was far from muscle bound. Though powerfully built, there was a litheness to him that suggested he was capable of moving at tremendous speed and with considerable agility.

It was Nightwing whom he noticed first. Looking up from his scrawling, Black Death's small piggish eyes locked onto the interloper, and narrowed with a kind of delighted fury of which only a man whose mind is truly and most irreparably shattered is capable.

Black Death charged at Nightwing like a bull, with startling speed for something so large. As Nightwing deftly leaped out of the way as he'd done a thousand times before with a thousand different enemies, Batman made his presence known from behind. Black Death turned on him and they began to fight in earnest.

While they were thus engaged, Nightwing made his way over to the figure lying prone on the ground. It was a young woman, her fragile skull bashed in by a blunt object, lovely blond hair sticky with blood. She was not alive. Nightwing's interest in her ended there and he turned back towards the battle. He could not afford to spend thought or effort on the dead right now.

It came as a shock to him that Black Death seemed to have the upper hand, having driven Batman to the ground with sheer brute strength. Seeing Batman pinned beneath the monster of a human being, struggling to free himself, lit a fire in Nightwing's soul which burst at once into raging flame.

Nightwing hurled himself bodily at Black Death, leveraging the larger person off Batman. He did not seek to close with Black Death, leaping clear even as his adversary positioned himself for defense. Batman had regained his feet in the space of a heartbeat, and the two Bats now stood shoulder to shoulder, regarding their enemy with an appraising eye.

But Black Death didn't give them time. He charged again, rushing at them like a rabid animal, striking in all directions. Batman leaped to the right as Nightwing dodged left, and both got clear, though Nightwing did so only at cost as one of Black Death's fists struck him in the side and sent him reeling backward into a pile of snow-buried trash. Nightwing rolled with the hit and was gone by the time Black Death reached the location for a follow through kick. Debris flew in all directions as Nightwing regained his feet and pulled out one of his eskrima sticks in the same motion.

He struck with the weapon. Though his aim was true, Black Death had either heard it or sensed the stick whistling towards his head and blocked it with one of his giant forearms. There was an audible crack sound as the stick connected with the arm. Black Death had done more than move to block. With his free hand he had moved to attempt grabbing the stick, but Nightwing was already in the process of retreating almost before he'd made contact.

Black Death growled his frustration and turned his narrowed gaze on Nightwing. He charged with a roar of fury, which was cut short as Batman came down heavily with a kick to his enemy's head. Black Death staggered, a shift which threw Batman to the side. Black Death's momentum carried him on past Nightwing and into a wall. Nightwing dove in to finish him, but it was not to be that easy.

Black Death somehow managed to recover from the devastating blow to the head and whirled, landing a heavy kick in Nightwing's side. Nightwing fell in silence and slid through the snow, gasping in an attempt to regain the air that was lost at the impact. Dazed but not out, Nightwing sprang to his feet, oblivious to the pain in his chest.

Nightwing's mistake was in not rolling to the side, as Black Death did his signature charge. But it was cut short by a bolas wrapping itself around his ankles. He crashed down on his hands and knees with a roar of rage a bare six inches short of his target.

Nightwing shook his head dizzily as Batman fell upon Black Death with intent of restraining the latter. But Black Death bucked like a bronco, flinging Batman skyward. The few seconds it took him allowed Nightwing to recover himself. As Black Death rose staggeringly to his feet, Nightwing flew at him, using both eskrima sticks.

Black Death had only his arms for defense, but that seemed to be quite enough. He gave ground to Nightwing, but that was all. Then, all at once, he'd lashed out with one foot with the intent of knocking his adversary down. Nightwing leaped backward with cat-like reflexes, but Black Death advanced with equal speed, taking his small opponent by the left wrist and yanking him off the ground.

He landed a punch in Nightwing's already bruised side before the latter folded himself almost double and kicked out with both boots, striking Black Death in the forehead and chin. Black Death went reeling, but held fast to his enemy's wrist, unwilling to let go of that advantage.

They crashed down together, Nightwing atop Black Death. His struggles gained a certain frantic note, either because he could feel the strength in his enemy's dire grip or because flashbacks had assaulted him as well. He lashed out even as Black Death began a roll which was not unlike that infamous death roll of a crocodile.

It was then that Batman reentered the fray, landing a square kick at Black Death's elbow, forcing him to release Nightwing, who scrambled at once to his feet and shook himself like a wet dog.

Black Death had apparently had quite enough. He got to his feet and, at the first opportunity, fled. Batman and Nightwing gave enthusiastic chase, but soon lost him.

It was only at this point that Nightwing's injuries made themselves felt. Abruptly he lurched to the side and would have fallen had Batman not caught him and helped him stay upright. He put one of Nightwing's arms around his shoulders and a supporting arm at Nightwing's back. Nightwing made no attempt to pull away, indeed he seemed quite willing to let Batman help him walk.

"I think we should call it a night," Batman said.

"But that bastard got away," Nightwing spat in protest.

"We'll get him next time," Batman assured him "next time we'll know what we're up against,"

* * *

_January 31__st__, 12:03 AM_

It had taken a long time to get home. Once there, Batman took a look at Nightwing's injury, which proved to be a few broken ribs and appeared little more serious. After tending to the wound, he suggested Nightwing get some sleep.

Once Nightwing was asleep, Batman sat down at the computer and input a description of Black Death and began an internet search for anyone matching the description. Finding their foe's true identity would be their one advantage. He had not said it to Nightwing, but he was genuinely concerned about what their next encounter might bring.

Here was a foe who seemed every bit as fast, as agile and even stronger than Batman and Nightwing, who was more vicious by far than either of them on their worst day. Batman hoped to God that the villain wasn't smarter as well.

Even in the midst of this, he sensed that the rift which had formed between himself and Nightwing had been abruptly sealed in this one night.

It had not escaped his notice that Nightwing had flown immediately to his defense, nor had he failed to realize that they had worked together with the effectiveness which had not been theirs in months. Most of all, he knew that Nightwing had trusted him in the heat of the moment, and had permitted his touch when he might have flinched away or even lashed out.

It was more than Batman could have honestly hoped for. But there was, of course, no celebration conducted by either party. They took the change as a matter of course, and went on with their work in the same quietly determined way that they always had.

Whatever last remnants of fear Nightwing had harbored in his soul fell away that night, and his rage had long ago deserted him, though it seemed almost to have been reborn in the face of this new threat to Gotham which, though no longer his home, was most dear to him.

* * *

_06:00 AM_

Nightwing awoke before dawn, as had been his habit for as long as he could remember. He got up cautiously, for he still felt dully the pain in his side, reminding him at once of the night before.

He shrugged out of his costume and into his normal clothes, which he hadn't worn in some time, then went up and into Wayne Manor, a place he had not been to in almost as long. For during his stay he'd kept to the batcave, though Alfred had more than once attempted to entice him up the stairs with promise of food. He'd taken his meals downstairs as Nightwing.

"Master Dick, you're up early," Was Alfred's one comment on seeing the boy.

As with Bruce and Dick, Alfred was not given to unwonted displays of emotion. But the sorrowful look of apology had not left his eyes since Dick had been back, as though he held himself fully responsible for what had gone on in the house during his forced absence. Of course, neither Bruce nor Dick cast blame on him, and both had tried numerous times to convince him that what had happened was no fault of his own, because it grieved them both to see him unhappy.

"Where's Bruce?," Dick asked.

"He's just gone to bed, I expect," Alfred replied mildly.

Dick nodded, as if this were exactly the answer he'd anticipated. And, indeed, it was.

"Will you be taking breakfast in the house?," Alfred asked.

Dick hesitated to answer, then smiled slightly, realizing that the feeling of alienation had gone at some point, that he once again felt comfortable and welcome in the presence of his family. It was a good feeling.

"Yeah. I think I will, thanks,"

* * *

_February 4__th__, 01:12 AM_

An unseasonably warm day had preceded the freezing night which was typical for the time of year. It hadn't gotten into full swing just yet, the slushy snow was more wet than hard, and the ground was muddy in places where before no one had even known there was dirt to make mud with.

A mean sleet was falling intermittently, but neither Batman nor Nightwing paid it any mind. They were once more on the trail of the serial killer which was wantonly tearing at their beloved city's very heart. Batman had failed to find out anything about this Black Death, save for the sickening news that this was not the first city the man had haunted.

The two had split up to better cover what had become known as The Hunting Grounds of Black Death. Both were determined to find him and bring him to justice if possible. But they each knew that he had them at a severe disadvantage, and that a second confrontation with the living Goliath could very well be deadly. And, if it came down to his life or theirs, they knew well which choice they would have to make.

Though they did their best not to kill, both had the same feeling about it. If there was no sensible way around it, they would preserve their own life at any cost, provided it did not put innocent people in danger. For that was something they would never willingly do.

They ranged in ever wider circles, beginning at the site of Black Death's first kill and going from there. They did so in a very matter-of-fact way, but inside there raged quietly a building fury seemingly built more out of offense that anyone would do this in their city than anything else. It was a personal insult to them that this man's unacceptable behavior continued unchecked. And so they hunted, as they had hunted in the nights before. But previous night's labors had borne no fruit, and it seemed like tonight would be little different.

Something caught Nightwing's eye from a rooftop and he climbed down for a closer look. A thin pale arm was hanging conspicuously out of a dumpster. Nightwing opened the lid and found the body of a teenage boy, slain in the gruesome but inconsistent manner which was the signature of Black Death. The name of the monster who'd done it was scribbled on the inside of the dumpster lid.

Something felt wrong about this setup. Nightwing dropped the lid and backed away, feeling suddenly trapped. But he had sensed the ambush too late and now Black Death fell upon him from above, using his great bulk to drive his smaller adversary to the ground.

But springing onto Nightwing was akin to landing on a wild cat. He at once set to violent thrashing, striking out in all available directions with as much force as he was capable of. Even as he did so, he was in the process of thinking about what had just happened and how he might best react to it.

Black Death tried to hold onto Nightwing, which was about as easy as hanging onto a fish. A fish with a bad temper. Nightwing put his effort into a jab with his elbow. Black Death was forced back in order to evade the strike, giving Nightwing time to get into a defensive crouch. But he was immediately on Nightwing again, smart enough to realize that only in close quarters could he hope to be Nightwing's superior. Perhaps he knew also that Nightwing would call for aid the moment he got the chance.

He plowed into Nightwing, grabbing him in a crushing bear hug and continued on towards a wall. Nightwing could all too easily imagine that impact, which would surely break most of the bones in his body as he was crushed between Black Death and the wall. Twisting, he broke one arm free and snatched a birdarang from his tool belt. A single swipe of the razor-blade weapon and Black Death dropped Nightwing and went reeling.

He staggered and nearly fell, venting his rage by roaring inarticulately. Nightwing, meantime, lay in a crumpled heap, gasping for air and wheezing at the pain this brought to his ribs which had barely begun to heal from his last such encounter.

He rolled heavily onto his hands and knees and attempted to rise. He failed and keeled over on his side. He used his radio to call for Batman, realizing he was wounded badly enough that he ought to give up the fight. But he was unwilling to let Black Death go so easily, and once again struggled to his feet.

He'd barely gotten upright when Black Death slammed him in the chest with his shoulder and barreled out of the alley, leaving a thick trail of blood in his wake. Nightwing was flung backward against the wall, whereupon he blacked out.

* * *

_A/N: to the best of my knowledge, there is no such character as 'Black Death'. So far as I know, he is entirely of my own creation.  
_


	19. Chapter 19 - The Doorway

_February 5__th_

Nightwing regained consciousness a short time after losing it. Batman had taken him to the batcave. When he asked, he found out that Black Death had gotten away. Batman had followed the blood trail for almost half a mile before it disappeared. Presumably the villain had help, or perhaps just a vehicle. In any case, he was gone.

Though they had no proof of it, both the Bats sensed that he had abandoned Gotham as his hunting grounds, deciding that the protectors of the city were too vicious and persistent to bother with. Easier to move along to somewhere else where hunting was easier.

Batman had alerted the League, who were spreading the word via their numerous contacts. If Black Death showed up in any city which was guarded by a hero, they would be able to recognize him at once and attempt to either drive him away or, if possible, put a permanent end to him.

Nightwing spent most of the day resting, exhausted from even the short skirmish. Better that than dead, which is what he would have been had he not struck out as he had. Nobody needed to ask if his blow had been meant to kill, they all knew that it had been.

His silence told that the attack had reminded him too much of that night in the train yard when he'd sought to end Batman's life in much the same manner. But there was a significant difference this time, one which brought some small comfort to Nightwing's wounded heart.

The reason had been different. When he had lashed out, he had in mind only his own desire to survive, and to defend innocents from the savagery that was embodied by Black Death. Those were reasons which he could live with in good conscience.

Yet, even so, he felt his time in Gotham must come to an end. He felt keenly the desire to return to Blüdhaven, a want which could only be described as homesickness. And so he left not long after breakfast, arriving in the morning on February fifth.

He had not felt up to going to work for Grant, and so went directly to his warehouse and there he spent the entire day resting, barely moving save to get a drink or eat a little something.

But when night fell, he felt a horrible unease. Though he was still weak, and almost sick with pain, he heard the call of duty as clearly as a dog hears the whistle of his master. This was more than just another night. There was something evil out there, stalking the innocents of Blüdhaven like a hungry wolf preys upon lost sheep. As a fulfillment of the metaphor, Nightwing rose from his sick bed like a faithful sheepdog when he finds his flock threatened.

He didn't know where the trouble was, or what it looked like, but it was there. He could feel it.

As Batman had with Gotham, so too had Nightwing developed a regular route with Blüdhaven. He left the relative warmth of the warehouse and went out into the confused night. For February is a most bewildered month, as it can hardly decide whether it's spring or winter, and so has the worst features of both, being both cold and wet and worse than either alone.

Tonight it was slushy, for the day had warmed almost enough to melt the snow, but it was going back down to freezing, and would rapidly get even below that point. The sky was blotted out by clouds which threatened to make a snow storm happen before dawning.

It was no night to be out, whether you were hero, villain or otherwise. Even so, something... someone... was out here. And Nightwing was going to find them. He had no other choice.

Each time the wind blew, Nightwing had to steel his body against it, causing a tension which brought new pain with it each time the process was repeated.

He couldn't take a deep breath, and so was unable to make swift progress through the night. Instead he traveled slowly, slinking through the dark in search of the dreaded Someone which had brought him out of shelter and into this terrible night.

It did not escape him that this night was not wholly unlike the one which had been about when he had fled Gotham not so very long ago. He could not help but be reminded. By now he knew of the slug, knew that the night he remembered would never happen again. Yet his heart lacked conviction. But he did not allow the memory to turn his thoughts to jelly, nor let fear overtake him. He could not afford it.

He wandered without chancing to meet any opposition for well over an hour. He didn't even see any pedestrians, and there were few cars. It seemed he was the only person who was ignoring the signs from the sky that a downpour of half-frozen, or perhaps entirely frozen, rain was forthcoming. The wind was whipping through the city, driving anything not nailed down before it like a ferocious shepherd driving his flock to stampede.

And still Nightwing kept searching for the elusive Something that he knew was here in that strange way that only heroes are capable of. There is no science to explain this ability, and it's inconsistent at the best of times, but no hero will discount it when he feels inside that something is not right with the city which he has sworn his life to protect.

The first rain sliced down, forming into ice as it fell, cutting like the blade of a knife. The wind howled and the temperature dropped, and still Nightwing kept on. He was tired, he was cold and he was hurting badly, but there was nothing for it.

And then, at long last, he was rewarded. In a manner of speaking. He chanced to hear a woman's scream. At once he sprang into a run, forgetting his fatigue and broken ribs. It took him seconds to reach the source of the cry, but he wasn't fast enough.

Some kindly lady had opened her door to a beggar man in the street, only to find her throat slit by none other than Black Death himself. She lay in her doorway, startled eyes open but vacant, blood flowing like a river from her neck, down her front steps and into the filthy slush-snow. Black Death stood over her, knife in hand, breathing heavily, eyes full of a glorious malice as he drank in the rush which flooded through him after making a kill.

Nightwing felt something which went beyond fury at seeing this. He had already driven this monster away from Gotham, and it infuriated him beyond reason to find the beast here on his own doorstep not more than a day later.

"You!," he snarled above the wailing wind "get. Out. Of my. City!,"

Without waiting for answer, he flung himself upon his enemy in a frenzy of rage which surprised him perhaps more than Black Death himself. They fell out into the street, each struggling to get a death grip on the other, too close in their unloving embrace to properly attack or defend, rolling virtually helpless in their combined fury.

One of the dead lady's neighbors had heard her scream and come out to see what was the matter. She in turn screamed and ran back into her house at once to call the police to tell them that Nightwing had murdered Mrs. Dowry and Mr. Dowry was trying to fend him off.

This was incorrect of course, for Mr. Dowry was away on a business trip and was also less than half the size of the brutish Black Death. But the neighbor had never liked the idea of vigilantes and so saw exactly what it was that she wanted to see.

The two combatants, unaware of the neighbor or her phone call, continued to twist and writhe in the street, each actively seeking to kill the other, though for vastly different reasons. It was fortunate then that the weather was as dire as it was, or else a car might have run the both of them over. As it was, there were virtually no cars on the street at all.

At last Nightwing found leverage and kicked away from Black Death, sliding across the sludge until he was stopped by a curb. He scrambled to his feet and drew his eskrima sticks, mentally chiding himself for not having done that at the first. Black Death too gained his feet, still armed with his knife.

Their eyes locked on one another. Neither was willing to give any ground this time.

Nightwing could see the bloody gash he'd made with the birdarang, stretching across Black Death's face and down his neck, disappearing beneath his black cloak. It was this injury which had made Nightwing almost a match in strength, for the blood loss had left Black Death more weakened than Nightwing's broken ribs had left him.

Black Death charged, Nightwing parried and struck out with his free hand. The motion sorely jarred his ribs, but he tried to ignore the pain. His blow struck only glancingly and Black Death turned in passing to make a slash with his knife. The knife cut deep into Nightwing's exposed right side, but he barely felt it as he heaved backward out of range.

The ground was slippery and treacherous for both of them. They each staggered and nearly went down, regained their balance at nearly the same instant, and began the battle all over again, neither giving ground nor gaining it, evenly matched in both skill and ferocity.

* * *

"What in the hell-," Cole never finished the sentiment.

His temporary partner, who was greener than spring grass, hit the brakes too hard. The police car screeched and slid helplessly on down the road, weaving side to side of its own accord, ignoring the driver's attempts to set it right.

Cole and his partner had received the call about the fight. Turning onto the street, they had found two people in the street, ignorant of ice and wind as each sought to end the life of the other. Yet now they had far bigger problems as the police car slid right towards them. Neither seemed aware of it, so Cole did the only thing he could think of: he hit the siren.

At once, the smaller combatant lunged away from his opponent. As though oblivious, the other went after him, driving a knife into his exposed back. But before the knife could drive deep enough to be lethal, the police car plowed right into the shaggy black giant and continued down the road with him for some distance, finally stopping when it hopped the curb and smashed into a hapless light post.

Cole sprang from the car at once. He might have gone to the man at the front of the vehicle, but he didn't. Even as he consciously resisted it, he knew inside just who was the villain and who was not. And Nightwing most certainly was not.

He ran, slipping and sliding, to the side of the fallen warrior and then fell to his knees. He turned Nightwing onto his back, hoping to find him breathing and with a pulse. To his surprise, Nightwing managed to open his eyes, look at him for a moment, and then lost consciousness.

"Dammit, I didn't agree to this," Cole spat angrily.

Even so, he hefted the body of Nightwing in his arms, stood up and carried him into the shadows of an alley. He couldn't do anything now, but he planned to come back as soon as he could invent an excuse.

His partner, meantime, had gone to the aid of the man who'd been pinned between the lamp post and the car. The fight had opened the wound Nightwing had inflicted before, and it had bled just as profusely. Only he had less blood to lose.

"Guy's as good as dead," Cole's partner lamented "what about the other one?,"

"Gone," Cole lied, surprised by how easily he did so.

"Too bad. I'd have liked to get the bastard that would murder a woman in her own home,"

"It wasn't Nightwing that did it," Cole said "it was this guy here,"

"What makes you say that?,"

"Call it," Cole hesitated, looking over at the knife which had impaled a pile of snow, and then at the dead woman in the doorway "call it a hunch,"

* * *

Of course, Cole was right. Analysis of the wound, and fingerprints on the knife confirmed that only one person had handled it, and it was the murder weapon. Black Death, or Harry Thompson, did not die. He was the sort of person you just could never seem to kill. Or keep in jail.

Before the week was out he had escaped and vanished without a trace. But the killings did not resume in Blüdhaven, he was too smart for that. Black Death knew that Nightwing had survived, just as he had, and that the latter would do everything in his power to destroy the former. It isn't easy to arouse deathless hatred in the heart of a hero, but Black Death had more than done that.

Cole went back to "interview the witness", but found Nightwing had already gone somehow. He couldn't believe that the boy could move at all with the deep wounds he had sustained, and feared that doing so had encouraged the bleeding still further and that Nightwing would be found dead in some back alley, drowned in his own blood.

This did not happen, of course.

* * *

_February 12__th_

"Hello, Cole,"

Cole had stepped out of his house for an evening smoke, and was startled to see the shadow figure standing at the corner of _his porch,_ leaning on the railing. He knew the figure, and recognized the voice. He was reluctant to admit that he was relieved.

"You saved my life," Nightwing went on, not waiting for Cole to speak "and kept my identity secret, even from yourself, saving more lives than you'll ever know. I won't forget that,"

"Yeah, well...," Cole shrugged "you saved mine, I'd call that even,"

Nightwing dipped his head to acknowledge this.

"You could have turned me in," Nightwing said "you had every reason to. You know how bad the police want to get their hands on me. But you let me go,"

"I owed you, that's all,"

Nightwing's expression said he did not believe that, but he didn't argue, at least not verbally. Instead he smiled and seemed to nod to himself with some satisfaction.

"Any idea what happened to Black Death?," Cole asked.

"No," Nightwing's humor vanished all at once "but if he comes back, I'll be here. And I'll be waiting,"

_Good_, Cole thought. But this, he did not say.

* * *

_A/N: Tomorrow's chapter is the epilogue._


	20. Epilogue

_A/N: I would like to thank you all for reading, and also for reviewing. You have no idea how much it means to me to get feedback on my stories. I was very surprised by how positive the reception for this story has been. I honestly didn't expect that many people to read it, much less actually like it, but it's by far my most popular story to date. I hope you enjoyed reading the story as much as I enjoyed the writing of it. Thank you kindly and please enjoy this short epilogue._

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The Team was rightly shocked when the black-clad Nightwing came to Mount Justice, his movements hesitating and wary, as though unsure of his reception. He'd been gone so long that he appeared almost a stranger to them, but they at once welcomed him back into the fold.

Their number had grown slightly, and the latest members of the Team regarded what they viewed as a deserter with quiet disdain, for he was a stranger to them and they had no way of knowing what had befallen him to drive him out in the first place. It was not long before they got over their initial misgivings, for it was difficult not to like Nightwing, though he was quieter and had become even more reserved in his time away. He was devoted as ever to the mission, loyal to his teammates and far cleverer than the youngsters anticipated.

Nightwing divided his time between Blüdhaven and the Team most of the time. But now and then he would be struck by something, possibly nostalgia, which drove him to Gotham. And every once in a while he would seem to fade away altogether. At these times, he was visiting an old friend in a life very far removed from that which he enjoyed in Blüdhaven, Gotham or even in the presence of the Team. He was stoically devoted to all, yet belonged to none, his truest master was always the Mission. Whether this was for the best or not in the end, only history can say.

In Blüdhaven, he was yet known as Rick, though he no longer had any great reason to hide, for there was no danger in his being revealed to be Dick Grayson. He continued to work for Grant, and eventually purchased his warehouse, though under some other name entirely.

Cole continued to have contact with Nightwing from time to time, though never to the degree Gordon had with Batman. Leeson recovered in time and resumed his regular beat, to the joy of all his friends and co-workers. He'd grown a little wiser in that time, but then, so had Cole. Both now acknowledged the value and danger of having their very own vigilante, though they agreed that they preferred his presence to his absence.

Batman, to no one's great surprise, found himself a new sidekick, who went by the name of Batgirl. He later found himself adoptive parent to another young boy who deigned to name himself Robin, saying that it would 'just be weird if Batman had any other sidekick'. That, of course, is another story entirely.

Batman and Nightwing, though reconciled, had a different relationship thereafter. Never again did Batman give orders save in a combat situation, though he willingly offered advice, even when none was asked for. Nightwing, for his part, did not resent him this, and found his counsel beneficial most times. As promised, there was always a room for him at Wayne Manor, whenever he chose to drop by. He eventually did move back, at least for awhile. But that too is another story.

Though they saw no more of MinaTech, it was not the last time that they would encounter the slugs. Nor was it the last they saw of Black Death. But, again, those are different stories, for a different time.

For there is no true end to any story such as this, because there are always more heroes to come even as old ones fade away, another story after this one is through. Whether it is by fate, destiny, luck or hand of God, it is unarguably so. And thus, it is also true that another villain to will ever take the place of a fallen evil, and there will always and ever be another reason to _Fear the Dark_.

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**"**_**The monster never dies"**_

_-__**Cujo **(Stephen King)_


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